
r 





♦ 


» 





f 








p 








/• 
» ' 





1 


« 







« 


f 


» 


I 






t V 


t 




I 


♦ 





^ T 


* 



s 




@ 0 

LOOK AHEAD SERIES. 

BY KEY. EDWARD A. RAND. 


±. 

NIAKITSIG THti; BEST' OB IX; or, Tumble- 
Up Tom. 

' 2 . 

UB NORXH IN A WHALER; or, Would He 
Keep His Colors Flying? 

3 . 

XOO LAXE EOR XHE XIDE-MILL. 

Others in Preparation. 


THOMAS WHITTAKER, 

2 AND 3 Bible House, NEW YORK. 

0 • © 







THE WATCHMAN SPRANG FOR THE KOBBER AND GRIPPED HiM 


(Page 240,) 




LOOK AHEAD SERIES 


rv 


TOO LATE i=oiOTO TIDE-MILL 



AUTHOR OF “making THE BEST OF IT,” “ UP NORTH IN A WHALER,” 
“ FIGHTING THE SEA,” “ HER CHRISTMAS AND HER EASTER,” 

“ SAILOR-BOY BOB,” “ UP-THE- LADDER CLUB SERIES,” 
“school AND CAMP SERIES,” ETC. 





THOMAS WHITTAKER 

2 AND 3 IJiBLE HoUSE 

1890 


5 > 

> > > 






COPYRIGHT, l8gO, 

By THOMAS WPIITTAKKR. 


/ 


I 




CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER 

I. — Just a Miss, 

11. — Was it “Good N.ai'ure.?” 
ip III. — What can be Done.^* . 

( IV. — Making Six Equal to Twelve, 

^ .A ' V. — Upon the Mountain, 

' S VI. — At Last, a Boarder, 

i VIE — A Fight with One Hand, 

[ VIII. — The Old Sailor’s Story, 

> IX. — The Other Boarder, 

X. — The Snow-Shoe Club, 

^ XL — The Debating Society, 

^ XII. — Another Arrival, 

I'* XIII. — A Memorable. Debate, 

XIV. — Corner Work, 

XV. — A Serious Crisis, 

XVI. — Opposition, 

XVII. — Blossoms on an Old Branch, 
XVIII.— The Fire, . . . . 

XIX. — The Chase, 

XX. — The Finger Marks in the Du.st, 
XXL — The Old Tide-Mill Again, . 

XX IT — Too Late this Timp:, 

XXIII. — Bearing Fruit, . 


PAGE 

I 

13 

• 35 
46 

• 53 
76 

• 93 
98 

. 105 
116 

• 135 
. 144 

• 154 

176 
. 183 
192 
. 214 
222 
. 247 
261 
. 272 
290 

Y 303 



TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


CHAPTER I. 

JUST A MISS. 

Tim!” 

V ' “ Yes, mother ! ” 

Tim Shattuck’s mother, a spry, wiry woman, 
went back to her work in the kitchen, saying, 
“ I have done my duty. I warned him.” 

Tim Shattuck went on with his reading. 
“ Time enough,” he said. 

In a few minutes, Mrs. Shattuck’s face with 
its snapping gray eyes again appeared at the 
door of the sitting-room in which sat her son. 

“ Timothy ! ” 

“ What, mother ? ” 

“ Are not you going ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ! of course ! ” 

“ Well, you had better be starting.” 

“ I will.” 

Mrs. Shattuck was making pies in the 


I 


2 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


kitchen and she again returned to them. 
Tim’s thoughts came back to the book in his 
hands, and at the same time he kicked a bag 
of corn lying at his feet. 

“ ril get the corn to the mill all right,” said 
Tim silently. 

Once more his mother appeared. 

“ Tim ! ” 

“What, mother?” 

“ Are — you — going — to — the — mill ? ” 

“Yes, mother, I — am. There’s time 

enough.” 

“ ‘ Time enough ! ’ I shall call you * Time 
Enough Tim.’ ” 

Tim laughed in his good-natured way. 

“ Don’t worry, mother.” 

“ I won’t if you will do a little worrying.” 

“ Mother, I expect to start soon as Abram 
Lawrence comes with his team and that will 
save walking. He will go by with the mail 
soon.” 

“ Well, Timothy, be out in front of the 
house, watching for him.” 

“ Oh, dear ! you hurry the life out of one,” 
said Tim, rather petulantly. “ When Abram 
comes — ” 

Suddenly, the sound of a furious rattling 
was heard in the road. 


JUST A MISS. 3 

‘‘ He has come now ! screamed Mrs. Shat- 
tuck. « 

Yes, it was Abram. He carried the mail- 
bag from a railroad station five miles away to 
the village post-office. He generally drove at 
a leisurely pace, and as he was a kind of mail- 
bag himself, having an inquisitive mind, people 
said that he improved the opportunity to look 
the mail over. Tim was relying on Abram’s 
habit of a slow, steady jog, but this morning 
Abram was late, and his mare, Dolly, came 
round the corner and shot past the house as if 
she thought she was a cannon ball on a jour- 
ney. 

“Whew!” exclaimed Tim in disgust. He 
grabbed his bag of corn, seized his hat, 
and rushed out doors, bawling, “ A-brum ! 
A-brum 1 ” 

He might as well have appealed to the old 
brown mail-bag lying at Abram’s feet. Abram 
heard nothing save the rattle of his wagon 
wheels ; saw nothing except a post-office, in 
the distance somewhere. 

“ Stop! ” shouted Tim. 

So provoking ! Abram’s only reply was to 
administer to the undeserving Dolly with his 
whip what he called “a tingler.” Tim though 
kept on running and shouting. He reached 


4 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

the gate of the front yard. There his fool 
caught in an elm root reaching across the 
path. It was that very morning that Mr. 
Shattuck had said, “ I notice the old elm is 
putting out a foot, so to speak, and somebody 
will trip over it. I wish you would just take 
the axe to it, Tim.” 

“ I will, father,” said Tim, and didn’t. 
There was certainly time enough to remove 
the obstruction, Tim thought, and now he veri- 
fied his father’s prophecy. His foot caught in 
that root, and as it would not get out of the 
way, Tim was obliged to go out of his, and he 
pitched headlong ! Away went his bag of 
corn, the golden kernels scattering in every 
direction. 

“ If there isn’t Tim, making a spread eagle 
of himself on the ground ! ” exclaimed Mrs. 
Shattuck who had a quick eye for the comical. 
“ I must laugh.” 

Tim did not laugh. He rushed back to the 
house, saying, “Oh, dear! that old root must 
up and fly at me. Look at my pants ! ” 

Tim held out a knee in which was a sad 
rent. Mrs. Shattuck smoothed down her face 
and said soothingly, “ There, Tim, I’ll take a 
stitch in it. And, May ! May ! ” A girl with 
a pretty face came at once. 


JUST A MISS. 


5 


** May, you just get up Tim’s corn for him — 
out at the gate. I mean the corn is at the 
gate, not Tim.” The muscles of Mrs. Shat- 
tuck’s face were twitching as she bent down to 
her work. 

“ But I too have been there,” said Tim, 
“ and don’t want to get there that fashion 
again. That is a good girl. May.” 

When Tim came out, he found that May 
had picked up his corn and it was in the bag 
again and the bag was nicely tied. 

“Thank you. May. You are a jewel. I 
hope I shan’t have any more interruptions.” 

Tim shouldered his bag and started off. 

“ There goes Tim, husband,” said Mrs. 
Shattuck to Tim’s father who now entered the 
kitchen. “ There he goes with his bag to 
mill.” 

“What is the matter, Sally ? ” 

His wife told him and added, “Just like 
Tim, isn’t it, Davis ? It is always ‘ time 
enough.’ ” 

“ I s/i^u/d like to know,” affirmed Mr. Shat- 
tuck, “ where that boy gets his disposition to 
put off things. More than once I can remem- 
ber when he said, ‘ To-morrow will do.’ ” 

“ He don’t get the disposition from you, 
Davis.” 


6 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


‘‘ Nor from you, Sally. I’ll tell you. They 
say we can’t get rid of our old ancestors, and 
I have heard my mother tell about my grand- 
father, Bezaleel. Just such a person as Tim, 
good natured, easy, always putting off things. 
I guess it is Grandpa Bezaleel that has come 
back ! ” 

“ You’ve hit it, Davis.” 

Yes, it must have been Grandpa Bezaleel, 
who, a bag of corn on his back, was now toil- 
ing up a hilly place in the road. 

“Yes, Grandpa Bezaleel cut short!” said 
Mr. Shattuck. “ Well, I can’t say I am glad 
to see him. That disposition will make Tim a 
lot of trouble. Lucky the bag is a small one. 
Well, guess I had better cut that root up. I’d 
let it stay for Tim to cut up, but mother is 
coming over this afternoon and she might 
pitch over it. Tim has been punished.” 

Tim felt so at least, as he wiped his brow, 
and lugged that bag along. 

“ Can’t be helped now ! No use in crying 
over spilt milk. David next ! I wonder how 
much longer . the tide is out and the mill 
runs ! Wish I knew.” 

David Ransom was anxious to close his mill 
that day as soon as possible. It was an old 
structure, perched by a dam that held back 


JUST A MISS. 


7 


the waters in the mill-pond. There were gates 
in the dam. These were closed by the going 
out of the tide. The water was carefully 
used and led along to waiting wheels that 
stirred gently at first, then splashed vigorously, 
urging the big mill-stones above into a lively 
whirr. The incoming tide would open the 
gates again, and the gray mill-stones would 
come to a halt, folding over one another like 
big, tired hands. David Ransom, the miller, 
was now looking out of a rear window of the 
mill. 

Mill can’t run much longer,” he solilo- 
quized. 

Not much longer, and even now the burr-r — 
burr-r of the mill had a lazy sound, as if the 
stones wanted to stop. 

“ Folks must hurry up,” thought the miller, 

if they want their corn ground to-day.” 

“ Time enough,” said a boy half a mile 
away, as if he had caught the miller’s remark. 
“ Guess I will see what kind of a butterfly that 
is.” 

A bright, yellow butterfly had ordered a rest 
for itself on the purple head of a thistle-stalk, 
and Tim dropped his bag to interview it. The 
butterflies are a very tempting family. The 
lady in yellow on one thistle-stalk suggested 


8 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


what a handsome female in black and purple 
was on the next thistle-blossom. He must 
certainly interview that next one. Having 
seen several of the family, Tim re-shouldered 
his bag and trudged on. At last, he stood 
before the mill, a black, shabby structure. 

‘‘ Why, the door is shut, and if it isn’t still 
as a tomb!” exclaimed Tim. “And David 
Ransom is gone ! This is queer.” 

Unable to solve the mystery why the mill 
should be silent and deserted when he had 
been doing his best to do his worst, Tim looked 
about him in perplexity. 

“ Oh, there is David Ransom ! ” he cried. 
“ ril catch him.” 

Dropping his bag on the dusty platform be- 
fore the door, he hurried across a field-path 
that David Ransom was taking. Tim had 
been especially anxious to turn his corn into 
meal, as the corn was his, and his mother had 
promised to give him twenty-five cents for the 
meal. 

“ That will just pay a debt of twenty-five 
cents I owe May,” thought Tim, and he had 
told May she should have it. 

“ When I get back. Sis,” he patronizingly 
said to May, “ I will just settle with you.” 

“ Oh, thank you.” 


JUST A MISS. 


9 


As it was a debt of long standing, one which 
Tim had said it would do to pay “to-morrow,” 
arid then “ next week,” and then “ next month,” 
May was pleased to hear of a settlement. 

“You shall have it sure. May.” 

“ Oh, thank you,” she again said. 

This boy hurrying across the field to over- 
take the miller, began to fear lest he might 
not keep his word. 

“ Mr. Ransom ! ” he shouted. 

The miller turned round and faced his puff- 
ing pursuer. 

“ What’s wanted ? ” 

“ You got through ? ” 

“ Wall, what’s that low water in the pond 
say? That has got through, and you can 
imagine I’ve got through and — ” 

“ Oh ! ” 

There was an embarrassing silence. 

“ I’ve got some corn here.” 

“ Wall, folks can’t expect me to stay there 
and shove them wheels round when the water 
has gone.” 

“ N-no, sir. I — I — would sell — ” 

“ I don’t want your corn, for I’ve a lot of 
the stuff on hand.” 

“You may have it for a fair price, and less, 

too.” 


10 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


How much have you ? 

Tim told him. 

“ Oh, not much more than a spoonful. Wall, 
the corn is not worth to me more’n than five 
cents. That would be better than to lug it 
home and lug it back, expecting more. Now 
ril give you a piece of advice, and I won’t 
charge you nothin’ for it. There is sich a 
thing as bein’ too late for the tide-mill. Don’t 
forgit ! Be on hand another time. You’ll be 
behind hand all through life, if you don’t re- 
member as I said that there is sich a thing as 
bein’ too late for the tide-mill ! 1 don’t charge 

nothin’ for that.” 

Tim sorrowfully took the five cents and car- 
ried it home. 

“ Here, May, I’ll begin to pay off my debt,” 
said Tom. 

May held out her hand for the generous 
supply of pennies she expected. Tim gave 
her five. 

“ That all ? ” she asked. 

“That’s all,” replied Tim. 

May showed the disappointment that she 
felt. 

“ Oh, it will be all right,” said Tim, who 
now took up the role of a comforter. 

May did her best to padlock her mouth and 


JUST A MISS. 


1 1 

imprison any angry expression. It would have 
gratified her if she could have had the money ; 
but she did not want the money for herself 
alone. She had promised, on the strength of 
Tim’s promise, to buy that day a pair of 
stockings that poor Mrs. Bagley had knit and 
was anxious to sell. To make the purchase 
May lacked a quarter of a dollar. Mrs. Bagley 
had told her son, Bob, she expected to sell a 
pair of stockings, and he should have the 
quarter to buy a fishing line. 

“ If I had a fishing line, mother, I could 
catch fish enough every day, before or after 
school, to give us a meal,” said Bob. “ We 
should be so much in.” 

“ You shall have the money to-night. Bob,” 
confidently said Mrs. Bagley. 

“ And you, mother, shall have a nice mess 
of fish for breakfast to-morrow morning,” de- 
clared Bob. 

If Bob had bought his line that night of 
Trimmins, the grocer, that purchase would 
have exhausted his stock of lines, and he 
would have given an order for a dozen more 
to old Ben Bowler, the half-invalid sailor with 
his harsh, shattering cough. On the strength 
of that order, Ben would have bought a bot- 
tle of cough medicine. I cannot track any far- 


12 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

ther the course of the twenty-five cents if Tim 
had kept his promise and paid them to May. 
The track has been sufficiently followed. As 
a fact, I know that Ben Bowler did not get an 
order for more fish-lines, and so kept on cough- 
ing. Bob Bagley did not present his mother 
with “ fish for breakfast,” and on subsequent 
days the Bagley larder was not “ in ” to the 
extent of several meals. May Shattuck was 
disappointed and did not have a pair of new 
stockings to wear. All because Tim thought 
there was time' enough and failed to remember 
that he might be too late for the old tide^mill. 
Would he take to heart the lesson, and would 
he through life be always saying time enough, 
and be too late for the tide-mill ? 


CHAPTER II. 


WAS IT GOOD NATURE ? ” 

T im SHATTUCK was almost sixteen, 
perhaps a little under the average 
height for that age, but a boy of stout, com- 
pact build. Any one would have said that he 
had “ a solid look.” He owned a pleasant, 
agreeable face while not handsome. His hair 
was between red and yellow, and his eyes 
brown. His complexion would have been fair 
but nature before finishing her work on Tim, 
had taken a handful of freckles and peppered 
his face with them. He was social, liked to 
see people and people liked to see him. He 
was not lazy. An active spirit was born in 
him and activity was not simply a preference 
but a necessity. He was not a boy of bad 
habits. He was not profane. He did not use 
indecent words. He was a boy that in the 
main did or purposed to do his duty towards 
his father and mother. He would though 
procrastinate and say, “ Time enough.” 

13 


14 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“Our Tim does not do things in a hurry,” 
said his mother, “ but he is a good-natured 
boy.” 

Was it really “ good nature ” that animated 
him ? I think it was an easy nature. Tim 
had adopted a “ philosophy ” as he called it, 
and it took this form, that worrying did no 
good. He would reason after this fashion, 
even as he held forth in an oracular way to a 
grqup of boys in the barn one day. They 
were occupying seats — not very easy ones — on 
a heap of pumpkins, when Tim addressed 
them. 

“ Now, fellers, what’s the use of worrying in 
this world? What good does it do ? Fussing 
won’t make corn grow or get it into the barn 
when ripe. I don’t see but that folks who 
don't worry, get along as well as those who do. 
I don’t mean to be lazy. That is not what I 
mean, but those folks who are all the time 
driving and want everything done on the 
moment and are forever fussing lest they 
don’t get there just on time, why, they nettle 
everybody else, keeping ’em stirred up all the 
time. Those are the ones I mean — I say, 
boys, take it more easy ! Don’t worry. 
Things will come out right. Don’t worry. 
And don’t let others worry you, driving 


WAS IT “GOOD NATURE?” 15 

their business on to you, rolling their bur- 
dens — ” 

“ This way ! Don’t worry,” said Peter 
Stevens, and as he spoke,, he gave with his 
foot a stubborn push to the pumpkin on which 
Tim sat. The pumpkin began to roll and Tim 
rolled over with it. 

The boys all set up a shout. 

“Don’t worry!” cried somebody in the 
crowd. 

“ Take it easy ! ” shouted another. 

“ Well,” said Tim, grinning and jumping up 
from the floor, “ what good would it have done 
if I had worried about it ? ” 

“ You might not have gone over,” said one 
of the boys. 

“Ah, don’t know about that when this 
crowd is round,” said Tim. “ No looking out 
will save you.” 

“ Three cheers for Solomon, the philoso- 
pher!” cried a boy, and laughing and joking, 
they all sauntered out of the barn. 

“ Tim is good natured. He took that in 
good part,” was a remark made by one of the 
boys. 

Yes, he took the fun in a kindly way and 
that was commendable. To take life’s duties 
though too “ easy,” not to worry about our 


1 6 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

appointments and responsibilities, not to be 
prompt in our service, may prove one to have 
anything but a really “good” nature. To 
delay, to postpone, to be easy and careless in 
our attention to duties, may prove the pos- 
session of a very selfish nature. To take your 
own time for doing a thing, rather than to con- 
sult your neighbor’s convenience when he 
, runs a risk of harm and you incur none, may 
be a consistent application of such philosophy 
as Tim boasted, but it is not the Golden Rule. 

I think Tim Shattuck had an easy nature, 
which may also be the most selfish nature in 
the world. 

The day after Tim’s return from the mill, 
an empty bag and a five-cent piece in his 
hands, his mother said to him, “ Where is that 
meal you brought from the mill ? ” 

“ I didn’t bring any.” 

“You didn’t bring any? Why, Tim! 
That bothers me. I didn’t say anything yes- 
terday, for I supposed you brought it. Now 
I want it very much to do some cooking. 
What did you do with it — eat it?” 

“ I sold it.” 

“ I wish you had sold it to me.” 

“ Well, mother, the miller wasn’t there and I 
couldn’t have it ground. I found Ransom 


WAS IT “GOOD NATURE? 


had gone, and I overtook him. He wouldn’t 
go back and I let him have my corn.” 

“ That just blocks my cooking.” 

His mother spoke in tones that were rather 
sharp and stinging, but Tim was not to be 
disturbed by her reproofs and took every- 
thing quietly. It was a part of his “ phi- 
losophy,” and this fraction was a commendable 
one. 

“Well, mother, I can take some more corn 
and go to-day.” 

He felt entirely safe in making this offer, 
for he knew she would not accept it. 

“ Oh, I wouldn’t have a dog go out in this 
rain.” 

“You don’t mean that I am a dog, 
mother? ” said Tim smiling. This restored his 
mother’s good humor, whose equilibrium had 
been roughly disturbed. 

“ No, and I don’t mean to have you go out. 
How it does pour ! ” 

It certainly was a pouring rain. The town 
of Seaton had gone to sleep at night and not 
a drop was falling. A northeast wind though 
in the dark had hurried forward all its forces, 
its squadrons of clouds, and massed them all 
above Seat.on. Then at dawn, its batteries 
opened fire, leisurely at first, as if like Tim 


1 8 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

they were taking it easy. By breakfast time, 
all such mildness of attack ceased. The 
assault on Seaton was conducted with remark- 
able vigor. Not a house-roof, tree-top, shrub, 
man, boy, grasshopper, or even grass blade, 
but that received a vigorous pelting. 

Of course, I wouldn’t send. Tim out in such 
a rain,” thought Mrs. Shattuck. The philos- 
opher grinned as he took up a book, for he 
had not once expected that his mother would 
ask him to go out in the rain. When Mr. 
Shattuck came hornp at night, he arrived in a 
team. He was ^ carpenter, though he culti- 
vated also a very small field. His “farm” 
was not big enough to need the services of a 
horse, and he did not keep one. The gentle- 
man who now employed him as carpenter, 
told him this rainy, dreary evening, not to 
walk home, but he added, “ Shattuck, you can 
have my horse, and if it storms hard in the 
morning, you need not come but wait until 
noon and see how the weather looks. I sup- 
pose I ought to have my team just after 
dinner, say soon after one.” 

“ All right. Thank you ! I will see that the 
team is here at noon, in case I don’t bring it 
in the morning.” 

The morning of the next day, it still rained. 


WAS IT “GOOD NATURE?” I9 

Oh, dear,” exclaimed Mrs. Shattuck, “ I 
wish I had that meal.” 

“Mother,” said Tim, “there is ahorse in 
the barn handy, and I know father will let me 
take the horse and wagon, and I can ride over 
to the mill with some more corn easy as not.” 

“ Well. Get back though so that father can 
return the team this noon. • He promised to 
do that.” 

“ All right.” 

It was a disagreeable ride to the old black 
mill, for the rain was of that persistent, inquis- 
itive kind that not only beats you but seems 
to beat through you. 

“ Can’t see the mill ! ” thought Tim as he 
cleared a patch of pine trees. Beyond these 
trees was a stretch of marsh, and across it one 
looking could generally see the mill. The 
storm had now drawn a curtain of mist 
between the grove and the mill, and Tim only 
saw this mist. “Things look dreary,” ob- 
served Tim. “ The tide is high too on the 
marsh. Unusual to see it at that height. 
Who is that? ” As he asked the question, he 
almost brought to a stop the wagon wheels 
splashing through the mud, for he saw an 
acquaintance at the window of a farm-house 
on the side of the road opposite the marsh. 


20 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


Billy Jones! How pale he looks at the 
window! Been sick, they say,” thought Tim. 
“ If I have time, guess I will call and see how 
he is, on my way back.” 

The wagon wheels splashed on. The old 
mill soon loomed up through the fog, and over 
the bridge spanning the outlet of the pond, 
clattered Tim’s team. 

“Whew! how high the tide is!” thought 
Tim. “ How it runs in under the old bridge! 
Dreary enough ! ” 

Nothing could be seen of that ocean send- 
ing this whirling, furious stream under the 
bridge, but it had buried the flats — bare at low 
tide — under such a deep, wide flow of water 
that it seemed as if an arm of the sea had 
expanded into the ocean itself. 

“ But where is the miller.'^ ” asked Tim. “ I 
don’t see any door open. Guess I’ll try the 
door.” 

He jumped from his wagon, stepped to the 
door, seized its latch and rattled it. The door 
was locked. He looked up at a window over- 
head, and at a window at the right of the 
door, but he saw nothing that indicated any 
likelihood that he would get in. The water 
thumping and splashing about the building, 
the wind moaning and rattling, made almost 


WAS IT “GOOD NATURE?” 21 

noise enough to suggest that the mill was 
going. Not a mill-stone, not a wheel stirred 
though. 

“ There! ” thought Tim, “ I came too early. 
I'he mill won’t go till all the water is in the 
pond, till high tide is over, and then when the 
tide turns and the water begins to run out, it 
will start up the mill. Got to wait I suppose. 
Guess I will go back to Billy Jones’. Ran- 
som will be along soon, I guess.” 

Back in the rain to Billy Jones’ door, poked 
the horse, and Tim alighted. 

“ Billy, how are you?” asked Tim, entering 
the house and addressing a boy of his age. 

“ Oh, better, Tim, but weak yet,” replied 
Billy. “ Sit down; mother is not very well 
and is lying down.” 

Here somebody in a dusky corner, that 
Tim had not observed, gave a hard, shattering 
cough. 

“ Uncle Ben,” observed Billy, and Tim nod- 
ded his head. It was that poor old salt, 
retired now from active duty and very much 
needing a cough medicine to quiet the trouble 
in his lungs — Ben Bowler. 

“What are you doing, Billy?” asked Tim. 

“ Oh, trying to be useful, Tim,” said Billy, 
handling a ball of cord. “ I was helping 


22 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


Uncle Ben make some fishing lines. He 
makes them for Trimmins, you know, and I 
guess an order will come most any time.” 

“ If ye want a line as good as they make 
’em, and one that will almost ketch fish with- 
out any bait, you had better buy one of 
them,” advised the old sailor in thick, hoarse 
tones. 

“ I will remember that,” said Tim, “ the 
next time I am out.” 

old Ben laughed.” That’s what they all 
sez, and Trimmins hisself. How’m ever, 
s’pose you can’t hurry them things.” 

“ Do you know where Ransom is ? ” asked 
Tim. “ I want him to grind some corn.” 

“ Precious little grindin’ to-day,” affirmed 
Uncle Ben Bowler, shaking his head. This 
shaking was not in confirmation of his opinion, 
for the old man shook his head all the time. 
He was affiicted with a nervous malady. 
He now continued his words, still shaking his 
head; “You see. Ransom has been down here 
and said his wife was sick and he did not want 
to leave her. If he must go to the mill, he 
would get somebody in the next house to stay 
Vv^ith his wife. He won’t go to the mill until 
we tell him.” 

“How could you tell him?” asked Tim 


WAS IT “GOOD NATURE?” 23 

looking at the two invalids. “ Neither one of 
you can go out.” 

“ Oh, we manage it,” said Billy. 

“ But how do you tell the tide is high in the 
first place?” asked Tim. “You can’t see 
the pond from here.” 

“No,” replied Billy, “ but come to this win- 
dow — there ! ” 

Billy stationed Tim at a window looking out 
on a narrow little garden of shrubs and apple 
trees, and beyond it was a stretch of open 
country. 

“There, Tim! A little creek comes up 
from the mill-pond, and working its way 
across the marshes ends just beyond the gar- 
den fence. Don’t you see it?” 

“ Oh, yes! there is the water.” • 

“ Well, when the water gets up where it is 
now, that means — ‘ look out ’ ! The tide is 
very high down at the mill. You can see that 
the water is flowing up to the slats of the 
fence. Now Ransom ought to know that. It 
is a little scarey.” 

“ Well, how can you tell him ? ” 

“ Tellergraph to him,” said Uncle Ben, shak- 
ing his head. “ We have had it up, but I 
don’t think he sees the first bit of it.” 

“ Perhaps, Tim, you would like to see it,” 


24 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

suggested Billy, “ if you’ll go to the back 
door.” 

‘‘ Yes, I should.” 

Tim went to the back door and saw a frag- 
ment of an old white sheet tied to a long pole 
leaning against the side of the house. 

“ That cloth on the pole your telegraph, 
Billy? ” inquired Tim. 

^‘Yes. You see Ransom is my uncle. He 
is mother’s brother — I don’t know as you knew 
that — and when we want to tell one another 
anything, we put up this signal here, and they 
have one at the other house. If the tide got 
very high. Ransom told us to telegraph, but 
there is so much mist round, I guess he can’t 
see it from his windows.” 

“ P’raps you — ” 

Old Ben said these two words and then 
stopped abruptly, but looked very signifi- 
cantly at Tim. The latter guessed his mean- 
ing. 

“ Perhaps I would go and tell Ransom ? 
Oh, yes.” 

“You’ve got a team and could jest slip 
round there in one minute. I’ll ventur’ to 
say.” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” 

Tim added in his thoughts, “ Time enough! 


WAS IT “GOOD NATURE?” 25 

Don’t want to worry about it. The old mill 
will stand this tide.” 

Tim liked to read and saw an open book on 
a table near Billy. The pictures of the book 
caught his eye. 

. “ What’s that volume? ” asked Tim. 

“Oh, it is only history,” said Billy. 

“ History of the United States ! ” said Tim. 
“Full of pictures! Why, it must be very 
interesting.” 

Tim lingered at the table, examining the 
book. Then he concluded to sit down and 
turn over its pages. Uncle Ben Bowler looked 
uneasy and gave significant winks at Tim, and 
several times he coughed to attract his atten- 
tion. It was all in vain. 

“ He don’t do no more good than that tother 
tellergraph signal,” reflected the old sailor. 

Billy also looked uneasy and made various 
remarks about the high tide. Tim’s thoughts 
however, were immersed in the history. 

“Volume one! Where is the second?” 
asked Tim. 

“Down at the mill,” replied Billy with alac- 
rity. “When you go down there, you may 
want to see that.” 

Billy looked at his coughing companion as 
if to say, “ I guess that will fetch him.” 


26 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


He was right. Tim’s “ good nature ” now 
prompted him to say, “ Guess I’ll go. I am 
to tell your uncle that the tide is high.” 

Tell him,” said old Ben, turning his gloomy 
eyes toward Tim and shaking his head em- 
phatically, “ tell him that the quicker he can 
get to his mill, the better it will be for all con- 
sarned ! ’Tis an orful high tide.” 

“ Oh don’t worry ! I’ll have him there in 
good season.” 

When Tim had left, the sailor coughed and 
said, “ The great thing — the great pint — young 
man, is to git you off in good season. Now 
that you are gone, something may be done.” 

Tim as he left the yard, gazed at the useless 
display of cotton cloth at the door, and then 
headed his team for the miller’s house. 

“ Can you drive me round to the mill ? ” 
asked Ransom, when he learned about the 
tide. 

Tim did not relish the idea of a return to 
the mill unless necessary for his own inter- 
ests. 

“ Could I have my corn ground ? ” he asked. 

“ Couldn’t to-day. I must be home soon as 
possible. Oh, I can walk there,” said the mil- 
ler. 

Tim was about to say, “ Sorry, but I think I 


WAS IT “GOOD NATURE?” 2/ 

must be off.” He suddenly remembered that 
an interesting book was at the mill, and hadn’t 
he better get it ? 

“Oh, Mr. Ransom, guess I’ll go back to the 
mill.” 

“ Thank you. Wish I had knawn before 
that the tide was at Bowler’s fence. Saved 
suthin’.” 

“ The building won’t go,” observed Tim. 

“ If it should, it would be the first time 
it ever played that trick on me at a tide. 
Oh no, it won’t do that ! ” replied the 
miller. 

“ Well, what’s the use of worrying?” asked 
the philosopher. “ You are not going to 
grind any corn? If you are, I have some in 
my bag.” 

“ No grindin’ to-day as I said afore. I 
must git back to my wife soon as I can,” re- 
plied this faithful spouse. 

“ Well, how will the tide harm you, sir ? ” 

“ Ah, it is the spilin’ ! ” 

“ What’s that ? ” wondered Tim whose 
“good nature” had occasioned the delay in 
the notifying of Ransom and he was not med- 
itating now on the subject of consequences. 

“ The spilin’ of my meal on hand. This 
pesky rain ! ” exclaimed the miller as he bowed 


28 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


his head before the storm sweeping the 
marshes that the road here traversed. 

“ There’s the mill ! ” said Tim in an encour- 
aging tone of voice. 

The homely building stood out against the 
gray mist that enveloped everything. 

“ I spected she’d be there, but this tide ! 
Jest see it back in the mill-pond and beyond 
the bridge ! ” 

It seemed as if it would be a very easy 
thing for the old mill to float away on this 
deep, energetic tide. The wagon was now 
clattering over the bridge dividing the mill- 
pond from the creek below, and leading up to 
the mill door. 

Ransom briskly jumped from the wagon, 
landing on the steps, and then pulling a big, 
clumsy key from his pocket, he opened the 
battered door. Tim promptly followed. 

Booh ! ” exclaimed Tim, “ what a gloomy 
noise ! ” 

It was indeed a sombre ffound that the 
storm made at every gaping crack, under the 
rough eaves, around the doors, while beneath 
the building there was the dashing of the 
waves against the shell-crusted old piers on 
which the mill rested. There was now but lit- 
tle space under the mill between the water 


WAS IT “GOOD NATURE? 


29 


and the floor. Indeed the tide washed up 
against the floor in some places, and, in one 
corner of the old building Ransom made a 
prompt inspection. There he stood amid the 
shadows, holding up his hands and groaning, 
“ Jest as I feared ! ” Tim had begun the sen- 
tence, “ Do you know of a history down 
here?” He intended to secure it and leave. 
The miller’s distress interrupted Tim’s words. 

“What is the matter?” asked the good- 
natured Tim, disposed to take things quietly. 

“ Matter ! ” was the sole and short reply of 
the miller stooping down and gripping a pile 
of well stuffed bags as if he would lift them 
all in a single armful. In a moment, he made 
a longer speech : “ Here, take this and carry 
it over there and put it on top of that plat- 
form.” There was no ’decent escape and 
Tim obeyed. He did not need to ask what 
was in the bag he was carrying to a safe 
place. 

“Meal!” thought Tim. If his hands had 
lost the power to tell by feeling the contents 
of the bags, the powder on his coat would 
have declared the story. 

“ You see,” said Ransom, loading the pant- 
ing Tim with another heavy bag, “ I’ve got a 
hundred bags in this pile, and the tide has 


30 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

got to some on ’em and will jest spile every- 
thing it teches.” 

“ A hundred ! ” thought Tim. “ Oh, dear! ” 

He groaned away and also bore away and 
then piled away. 

“ If we work master quick, I guess we can 
save most of ’em,” said Ransom. “A leetle 
spryer, please 1 ” 

Tim wiped the perspiration from his brow 
and wished he was as insensible to the 
temperature as the bags of meal he was lug- 
ging. 

“Oh! oh!” groaned Ransom. “Here she 
comes ! Faster, quicker ! the water is a-gainin’ 
on us ! ” 

By this time, Tim was floured, or mealed 
rather, from head to foot, while the perspira- 
tion stood in beads on his forehead. 

“There!” said Ransom at last. “I guess 
that job is over. Now, young man, I am 
ever so much obleeged to you, and I spose - 
you would like to have me grind your corn, 
but I can’t do that to-day. Howsomever, I 
am going to give you some meal for your 
trouble I put you to, and the corn you can 
have ground some other time. You jest step 
into the countin’ room and I’ll git your 
meal ready.” 


WAS IT “GOOD NATURE?” 31 

While Tim was waiting, he saw on a shelf 
a volume labeled history. 

“ Ah ! ” he cried, “ that is what I want, I 
guess. Yes, that is it.” 

Tim was busily looking at the book when 
Ransom entered. 

“ Do you suppose, sir, I could borrow this 
book? It belongs to Billy Jones.” 

“ Oh, 1 guess so. You might ask him.” 

“ I will stop on my way and see him.” 

“ Here is your meal and many thanks.” 

When Tim called at Billy’s, he made known 
his desire to borrow the book. 

“ Oh, yes, indeed ! you can take it. Must 
you hurry? Tell us about the tide at the 
mill,” said Billy. 

It flashed upon Tim’s mind that he ought to 
be at home as soon as possible, but he could 
not seem to recall any reason for it, and he 
concluded, “ Oh, I guess there is no hurry ! 
Time enough ! ” 

He stopped and entertained Billy and his 
uncle with an account of the tide at the mill, 
but all this time his mind was strongly 
impressed with some necessity for a speedy 
return. 

“Stop worrying!” was Tim’s advice and 
command to his troublesome monitor, con- 


32 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


science, and he amused his auditors with a 
graphic account of his adventures at the mill. 
He finally concluded that he must go, and he 
left Billy and Uncle Ben at the window, watch- 
ing the tide as it receded from the garden. 
When he reached home, he said to his mother, 
“There, mother, I brought you your meal, 
but I earned it I can assure you, and I will tell 
you how.” 

“ I am glad to get your meal.” She did not 
seem though anxious to hear Tim’s account of 
his adventures, and she quickly said, “ There, 
Tim, your father has been waiting to take this 
team home, and I know it has troubled him, 
for he promised to have it back at noon, and 
he won’t get it there by that time.” 

“ Mother, I knew it was something I ought 
to do and yet couldn’t get hold of it.” 

“Why didn’t you come home? Couldn’t 
get hold of that? You had hold of the reins^ 
and why didn’t you turn the horse’s head 
home ? ” 

“ Oh, dear ! ” reflected Tim. 

“ Well,” resumed his mother, “ the only 
thing now is to get your father off as soon as 
possible.” 

“ Where is he ? ” 

“ Out in the barn, I suppose, but he ought 


WAS IT “GOOD NATURE?” 


33 


to be over at Mr. Cousins’ house where he has 
been at work. I’ll call him. He is fidgetting 
about it.” 

She went to the back door and directing her 
voice towards the dripping barn, tried her low 
notes, “ Davis ! Davis ! ” 

There was no response. Then she tried 
her high notes, throwing in considerable 
emphasis ; 

“ Ddi-vis/ Da-Y\s ! ” 

An anxious face appeared at the barn door 
and Mr. Shattuck replied, “ Coming ! ” 

He did not waste much time in reaching the 
house, and soon his wagon wheels turned 
round nimbly, carrying him to his employ- 
er’s. 

“You see, Tim, Mr. Cousins wanted that 
w^agon at noon,” remarked Mrs. Shattuck. 

“ I don't see why he was in such a hurry,” 
said Tim. “ I mean Mr. Cousins.” 

“ He wanted to go away with the team.” 

“ I don’t believe it made so much difference, 
mother.” 

It did make a difference, even as great a 
difference as the moving of the family-centre 
from Seaton over to Barkton from which the 
Shattucks had come in the first place for the 
sake of more plentiful work. 

3 


34 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE- MILL. 

This time it was not a case of “ too late for 
the tide-mill/’ but it was a case where Tim 
was too late at the tide-mill. If he had gone 
promptly to the miller, and then to the mill, 
he would have come back in season to accom- 
modate his father. 

Was the nature animating Tim that day 
really “ good,” or was it simply easy and 
really selfish ? 


CHAPTER III. 


WHAT CAN BE DONE? 

<< T AM sorry, Mr. Cousins,” said Mr. 

JL Shattuck when arriving with the bor- 
rowed team at the house of his employer. 
“ I know I am late, but really it was not my 
fault. It was the delay of another that held 
me back.” 

He disliked to criminate Tim. “ I suppose 
it has bothered you. You wanted to go 
away.” 

“ I don’t know but what it will prove to be 
a bothering of you.” 

** How so ? ” 

‘‘Well, I did intend to go away, but the 
team not arriving, I of course stayed at home, 
and in the mean time, who should call but 
Gibbs.” 

“ The contractor ? ” 

“ Yes, Gibbs., He has been at me some 
time to build a new barn for me. I have 
hated to start it, though I knew well enoup'h I 
35 


36 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

needed it. The building, you see, would make 
me considerable work and I didn’t take to the 
idea of it just now. But I saw him coming 
into the yard this noon, and then I knew he 
had me. If I only had had my team, I would 
have been off and he wouldn’t have caught 
me. You know how he can talk a thing into 
you— anything he is interested in, and he has 
talked me into building a new barn.” 

All settled ? ” 

“ Yes, he begins in two weeks. I told him 
I had a job that you were doing for me, and 
the barn going up in two weeks, your work I 
couldn’t well keep on with. That must be 
given up. I asked him if he couldn’t make a 
place for you on the new barn. He said he 
would like to, but ‘ I declare,’ said he, ‘ I 
shall have to bring my own gang of men 
with me — must keep ’em employed or they’ll 
leave me — and if there is a chance for another 
hand, it is already promised to half a dozen 
at least. Sorry!’ he said.” 

“ So am I, Mr. Cousins. It seems to be a 
plain case then. In two weeks you won’t 
need me.” 

“ That is the way it stands, but I would 
awfully like to keep you longer. And if my 
team had been here and I could have got out 


WHAT CAN BE DONE? 


37 


of the way of that feller’s tongue — he does 
beat all in talking — the new barn wouldn’t 
have been decided upon — ” 

“And I should have had my job continued.” 

“Zackly.” 

“ Sorry the team wasn’t here. Well, guess 
I’ll be going to work. The rain has stopped 
and I think I can get in several hours of 
work.” 

That’s right. Like to have you.” 

Mr. Shattuck “got in ” his several hours of 
work and went home with his week’s earnings 
in his pocket. That pocket though seemed 
very light, for the prospect of no work after two 
weeks did not encourage the feeling of plenty. 
He had dark eyes, and his face generally had 
a sombre, discouraged look. To-night, he 
seemed more disheartened than ever. His 
wife and May chatted away briskly at the 
supper table, for they had much vivacity and 
energy, and Tim in his easy-natured fashion 
would smile at their conversation and occa- 
sionally add a pleasant remark. Suddenly, 
Mrs. Shattuck laid down her knife and fork, 
fastened her snapping gray eyes on her hus- 
band, and said, “ Davis, what is the matter ? 
Something is on your mind. You needn’t tell 
me there isn’t.” 


38 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“ Well, when a man is going to be out of 
work in two weeks, he naturally feels a little 
dull.” 

“Oh, father!” said May, “something else 
will turn up.” 

“ Not in Seaton. We came here from 
Barkton because Mr. Cousins, I knew, could 
give people work — ” 

“ And why can’t he do it now ? ” was Mrs. 
Shattuck’s challenge. 

Mr. Shattuck related the . unexpected 
change in Mr. Cousins’ programme of work. 

“ All because that team didn’t get there in 
season,” said Mrs. Shattuck. 

“Oh, well, don’t fret!” advised Tim. 
“ That is only Mr. Cousins’ way of putting 
it.” 

“Mr. Cousins’ way?” said Mrs. Shattuck. 
“ If the team had been there, it would have 
been another way.’ ’ 

Tim prudently confined his attention to 
bread and butter, saying nothing. 

“ Seriously, folks,” resumed Mr. Shattuck, 
“ I don’t know where the next job is coming 
from. I hate to leave Seaton. Good schools, 
here, you know. Better than at Barkton.” 

“ I have learned so much since I have been 
here,” remarked May. 


WHAT CAN BE DONE? 


39 

“And I like the schools,” said Tim. “ Oh, 
I guess we can stay, father.” 

“ Well, Tim, I want to stay, but I must say 
I don’t see any prospect of it.” 

If any prospect opened within a few days, it 
soon closed up again, and toward the end of 
the two weeks, the family had a conference. 
The moving power of the household was in 
Mrs. Shattuck and May. Tim disliked prompt 
action, and Mr. Shattuck was one of those 
men whose inclination to look on the dark side 
interferes with a quick, ready decision. 

“ Well, you two men may do as you please, 
but May and I are going to Barkton,” said 
Mrs. Shattuck. “ I mean for a short stay.” 

“You are?” exclaimed Tim. “Now if 
Barkton were near and you could borrow a 
team and just ride over — ” 

“ No, there has been enough borrowing of 
teams. The last time will do. If Barkton 
were near and we had a borrowed team now, 
such misfortune might attend it that you 
would never see us again. But Barkton, as we 
know, is a long way off. We will walk to the 
railroad station on the ‘ back road ’ — only two 
miles there — and take the cars to Barkton. 
We will go independent and shan’t meet 
with a mishap.” 


40 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


“ Cars may be thrown off the track,” sug- 
gested Tim. 

If they do, Fll throw them back again,” 
said the energetic mother. 

Really ! Tell us what you are going to 
do ? ” besought Mr. Shattuck, a smile coming 
to his despondent face. 

“ Davis, you keep still. When we have got 
back, we will tell you.” 

“ I’ll have a brass band out when you get 
here,” offered Tim. 

“ Have it in season, young man. I don’t 
want any bands round playin’ to-morrow about 
something that happened to-day.” 

Oh, don’t you worry, mother ! ” 

Tim knew that his mother was very resolute 
and he guessed what might be the object of 
this mysterious trip to Barkton. 

Oh, mother, you wait until — well, some- 
thing will turn up.” 

“ Tim, I believe in turning up something 
yourself. Then you will be sure of it.” 

Tim laughed, and Mr. Shattuck looked 
pleased, for he had great confidence in his 
wife’s practical ability. 

“ We shall do nothing of a family nature 
without a family consultation when we get 
back,” said Mrs. Shattuck, ‘‘but father can’t 


WHAT CAN BE DONE? 


41 


go to Barkton, for he is too busy, and May and 
I will go and report what the prospect may 
be.” 

The mysterious journey was swiftly made, 
and the members of the family sat down 
together once more to talk over the results of 
the trip. 

“To begin the report,” said Mrs. Shattuck, 
“we had a good time, didn’t we. May? ” 

“ Yes, indeed, and everybody was glad to 
see us. We stopped one night at the Parlins’ 
and the next at the Flitners’.” 

“ Then I found out that we can have a 
house — empty next week — and the rent will 
be very moderate.” 

“ Where is it ? ” asked Mr. Shattuck. 

“ It is the Squire-house, where the Squire- 
family lived so long.” 

“That!” ejaculated Tim. His tone was 
tipped with a sneer. 

“ Why not ? ” asked May. “ We can’t get 
our old house ; that is rented. It is not so 
good as the Parlins’ house, or the Flitners’, 
but it will hold us nicely and our furniture 
will go there. I don’t mean it will fill the 
house, but look well. Mother thinks we 
might let a room.” 

** I think, Tim,” said Mr. Shattuck approv- 


42 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

ingly, “it is a very good selection. Not so 
handsome I know, but then it looks well 
enough, and mother says the rent is very mod- 
erate. I am sure I think she has done very 
well indeed. That takes a load off my mind, 
to think we have got a place to creep 
into.” 

“ I am sure I am pleased, Davis, if you like 
it,” said Mrs. Shattuck, her face beaming 
with sincere satisfaction. “ Now, May has a 
secret.” 

May blushed, and in her fair, clear complex- 
ion a blush was of a deep crimson tinge. She 
hung her head and said, “ Well, I wanted to 
do something and you know the schools just 
now are not keeping at Barkton, and I 
thought it might help you, father, if I should 
go into the — canning factory. I inquired and 
can get a chance.” 

“ Canning factory ! ” said Tim. “ You don’t 
mean — ” 

“Yes,” said his mother emphatically. 
“ The Barkton schools are not running now 
and there is a good set of young people there 
in the factory, and, Tim, there is a chance for 
you if you want it.” 

“ For me ! You did indeed bring home a 
number of surprises. Well, I’ll think it over. 


WHAT CAN BE DONE? 


43 

Don’t want to be in too much haste about 
deciding.” 

“ I’ll warrant ye ! ” said his mother. “ You 
can’t be long though in making up your 
mind. It all happened by chance. May hap- 
pened to meet the superintendent, and he 
wanted her to send along any young people 
she might know of, as work was driving. 
Then what did she do but offer herself! I 
wasn’t just ready for it, but May insisted — ” 

“Good child!” murmured the father. 
“ Don’t want her to work hard though.” 

“’Don’t w'orry, father,” cried May. “And I 
was. going to say, that the superintendent said 
Tim could have a chance and — you, father.” 

“ Me ? ” asked Mr. Shattuck, his face bright- 
ening. 

“Yes, boxing up the cans and doing any 
carpenter-work that might be needed round the 
building, repairs, you know. Pay wouldn’t be 
so good as what you had here, but the super- 
intendent said it would be a steady job.” 

“ I’ll take it and be thankful. It will give 
me a chance to see May during the day.” 

“And — Tim, father! Guess I’ll decide to 
go,” remarked Tim. This decision was one 
of unusual promptness. The efforts of his 
family to buttress his income cheered Mr. 


44 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

Shattuck’s drooping spirits, and the family 
consultation was very satisfactory. This was 
followed in due time by a family-move, the 
Shattuck possessions going off by cars to 
Barkton. Seaton was left behind with its 
stretching marshes of green, its murmuring 
tides along the creek and then into the mill- 
pond, and that old structure that daily trem- 
bled with the grind-grind of the heavy stones. 
One little memento of the mill went with the 
Shattuck-goods, not a bag of meal, for in this 
family of good appetites and lean pocket- 
books, everything eatable quickly disappeared. 
This memorial was a book, the volume of 
history borrowed by Tim. He looked at it 
several times after reaching Barkton. Then it 
went by degrees up into the garret of the 
“ Squire-house,” first into Tim’s chamber 
where he read it by lamp-light, and finally was 
transported by the industrious mother as a 
book “lying round ” to that useful receptacle 
of strange and neglected possessions, the 
garret. Tim forgot that he had it under the 
roof, the natural result of postponing the 
return of a borrowed article. Billy Jones 
forgot too where it went. This piece of 
literary property therefore lay in the garret- 


WHAT CAN BE DONE? 


45 


corner a long time neglected, until one day a 
very strange incident sent it and its finder 
down to the old black tide-mill with its daily 
grind-grind-grind. 


CHAPTER IV. 


MAKING SIX EQUAL TO TWELVE. 

HE “Squire-house’ sat back from the 



road perhaps two rods, and there were 
two elms on the edge of the sidewalk that 
bowed to all passers by as often as there were 
winds to make them. It was a double house 
having a room on each side of the front door. 
An ell contained a small kitchen and a scul- 
lery down-stairs and one chamber upstairs. 
The main body of the house had three cham- 
bers. Directly before the kitchen window 
was a Baldwin apple tree. At right angles to 
the ell and connected with it by a passageway, 
was a woodshed. The house not only fronted 
the road but faced the south ; consequently 
the sunshine bathed the front windows and 
just before dropping behind Moose Mountain, 
it would warm up the western end of the 
house. That extra warmth was not necessary 
in summer, but in winter it was acceptable. 
Then it gave a charm to the western parlor 


46 


MAKING SIX EQUAL TO TWELVE. 47 

window to look out, the last of the afternoon, 
and see the glorious cloud-paintings all about 
the top of Moose Mountain. 

“ The question is how to stow our furni- 
ture,” remarked Mrs. Shattuck when the 
family and their goods had arrived at the new 
home in Barkton. “ It is not a big house, but 
then it is not a big family and we have not an 
immense amount of furniture. Let me see. 
We shall use our kitchen as a — ” 

“ Dining-room,” suggested Mr. Shattuck. 

“And the room on the right of the front 
door will do as sitting-room and parlor.” 

“ So it will, mother,” chimed in May. 

“ The fact is we have not furniture for both 
sitting-room and parlor. When I think of it, 
filling our house with our furniture is like 
making six equal to twelve,” said Mrs. Shat- 
tuck. 

“ Then what do we want to fill it for ? ” 
asked Tim. 

“ Leave the room empty on the other side 
of the front door and take a boarder?” replied 
his mother. “That is quite an idea.” 

The family agreed with her, though who 
would want to come as a boarder, no one could 
possibly say. 

“ Now let us go upstairs. Oh, stop one 


48 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


minute,” nimbly ordered Mrs. Shattuck. If 
we should take a boarder, we have only one 
really good carpet for the boarder’s room 
and for the parlor! One carpet and two 
rooms ! ” 

Oh, he hasn’t come ! ” drawled Tim. “ I 
say now, don’t worry about that. Time 
enough when he gets here.” 

“ Proper time is now, Timothy, when we are 
planning where to put our furniture. Here, 
this is what I mean. Where shall we lay that 
one good carpet, on which floor ? ” 

The family looked at one another in per- 
plexity, and Mr. Shattuck looked very despon- 
dent. 

“ I tell ye,” said the woman with ready 
wits : make two big rugs out of the one 

carpet. Lay one in the centre of the parlor — 
ours, I mean — and put the other down in the 
boarder’s. As rugs, they would when bordered 
with other pieces of carpeting, almost carpet 
each floor. There for you ! ” 

“ Splendid I ” cried Mr. Shattuck, his dark 
eyes lighting up with admiration for his wife’s 
practical talent. 

The young people cried, “ Good! ” 

“ Now we will go upstairs,” said the mother. 
“ A chamber for Tim — ” 


MAKING SIX EQUAL TO TWELVE. 49 

“ Over the kitchen, please,” cried the son. 
“ Nice and warm there — ” 

“In hot weather,” said May. “You are 
welcome to it.” 

“A room for May,” continued Mrs. Shat- 
tuck, “and then a room for father and me, 
and—” 

“ Another room for a boarder! ” suggested 
Tim. 

“Why, yes,” said the mother, laughing. 
“ I don’t really think we can find furniture to 
fix it up for ourselves ! Well, we won’t try to 
fix it up now, for we have nothing we can pos- 
sibly put in the chamber but a bedstead and a 
rag mat before it.” 

“ Put your plants at the windows,” suggested 
May to her mother. 

“ Oh, yes ! I can do that.” 

“ It will be good as a magnet and attract 
boarders,” said Tim. 

“ Let’s have Tim for the boarder,” said May, 
“ and charge him a good round price.” 

“No objection to the charging, May — ” 

“But you do object, Tim, to the paying,” 
said Mrs. Shattuck. “ We will look out for 
you.” 

Finally, the furniture was distributed over 
the house, and if there was not enough to flM 
4 


50 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

the rooms, the very effort to make six equal 
to twelve deeply interested the family, called 
out many valuable suggestions of a practical 
nature, and occasioned some personal sacrifices 
for the general good that did not hurt the per- 
son involved. 

“ Wonder who ‘ the boarder ’ will be?” said 
May. 

“ Don’t know. May,” replied Mrs. Shattuck. 
“ Somebody is coming.” 

The plants in the windows of the chamber 
seemed to indicate that somebody had already 
come. A group of bright, cheerful faces 
seemed to be there in the very flowers. 
Geraniums and fuchsias and heliotropes and 
petunias were only late arrivals in gayly 
trimmed hats that had gone to the win- 
dow and there patiently waited any dispo- 
sition that their superiors might make of 
them. 

“ No boarder yet, mother!” May would say. 

“No, child, but somebody is coming.” 

“Well, who?” 

“ That is a puzzle.” 

Tim would sometimes declare that “ our 
boarder ” had come. He could hear his or her 
foot creaking on the stairs at night, or when 
the wind blew by day and a door might slam, 


MAKING SIX EQUAL TO TWELVE. 5 1 

he would say, “ There is our boarder coming 
in!” 

“ I wish he would pay me something, Tim, 
for his lodgings anyway,” his mother would 
wish. 

Though the occupancy of the new home by 
the family was not followed by the immediate 
appearance of a stranger as boarder, the “ de- 
sired one ” came at last, as we shall see. 

Our readers, I know, are interested in the 
Shattuck family. The parents were industri- 
ous and prudent in their methods, and ever 
careful of their good name before the world. 
Tim had an uncomfortable and losing habit, 
that of procrastination, and yet in many ways, 
he was a youth of merit. Having many good 
points, it was a pity he had that bad one. 
May’s character was far more satisfactory. 
People when living side by side, instead of 
imitating one another may be aroused to 
avoid such repetition. Nearness may provoke 
the development of opposite traits. May saw 
often the manifestation of Tim’s disposition to 
procrastinate, and it provoked promptness 
within her. 

“ I won’t be like Tim, making other folks so 
much trouble, see if I do,” concluded May. 

She cultivated promptness and punctuality. 


52 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


carefulness and system, simply because she 
painfully saw the lack of these qualities in 
Tim. Was Tim’s lack the most serious fault 
of this family circle ? There was a deficiency 
besides this, and it characterized the entire 
family. Friends would notice it, and it was 
deeply regretted by some of them. What 
was the lack? There was an entire absence of 
the religious element in the family character 
and life. Sunday for the parents was a day of 
sloth. Neither of the two hardly ever went 
to church, a neighbor had said one day. Tim 
and May were living in an atmosphere outside 
of prayer and the Bible. 

“ Guess we do about as well as most folks,” 
was Tim’s justification. 

Far better than certain families. Who 
though is contented to live spiritually on the 
low level of a neglectful neighbor? Our 
true place is up on the height of the greatest 
possible love for and obedience to God, the 
greatest possible help also to our fellows. 
Until we attempt such achievement, we are 
like the marksman content to plant his arrow 
at one side of the target. Who wants to be a 
failure ? 


CHAPTER V. 


UP ON THE MOUNTAIN. 

T H E canning factory was an irregular build- 
ing about half a mile from the home of 
the Shattucks. It was two stories in front and 
three in the rear. It had an extensive wing at 
one end, but none at the other. It had two 
picturesque porticos in the rear where nobody 
could see and appreciate them. The front 
wall was flat, as unbroken as that of the sky. 
At one corner of the wing was the stout, tall 
chimney going up from the engine room. 
From the centre of the main building rose a 
little cluster of chimney flues so modest that 
they seemed to be continually asking pardon 
for their presumption in showing themselves 
at all. 

When all the departments were in opera- 
tion, those of small fruits and big ones, corn 
and tomatoes as well as pears and plums, the 
factory was a very busy hive. Indeed, this in- 
stitution was a kind of calendar in wood and 
53 


54 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

iron. The old canning factory could give you 
the months of the year without your looking 
at the almanac or consulting your feelings, 
whether it were January or June, April or No- 
vember. Did the superintendent, Mr. Mark 
Prentiss, shout to the hands, “ It is pickles 
now! ” set it down as October or November. 
Did he say, “ Now for corn! ” set it down as 
September. Did he say, “Strawberries!” of 
course it was June. So the year turned over, 
and its divisions were blueberries or peaches, 
corn or pumpkins. 

May found her duties agreeable, and mostly 
because there was the satisfaction of earning 
something to help fill up the measure of the 
family income. May’s nature, that keenly 
felt a responsibility, made work harder for May, 
but it made life easier for her employers, while 
Tim’s peculiarity of dilatoriness lightening his 
own load, only greatened that of other people. 
In the end, however. May and not Tim found 
the greater comfort in their method of daily 
work. May tried to be prompt during the 
day. In the morning she was sure to be up 
and dressed in season for breakfast. Tim was 
sure to be upstairs, and only several imperative 
shouts from his mother, “Tim! Timo\\\y\ 
'Wm-o-tJiee ! ” brought him down-stairs. 


UP ON THE MOUNTAIN. 55 

“ It may seem a little thing to him, but I do 
wish that boy would get up and save my throat 
and legs,” his mother would say. 

As the days went by, the canners would 
bring home some announcement of new hands 
in employ at the factory. 

“ Billy Jones’ folks have come way up from 
Seaton,” Tim reported. 

“They have?” said Mrs. Shattuck. “Not 
his Uncle Ben, too ? ” 

“Yes, all. They wanted a chance — the well 
ones — to earn something. Billy is working in 
my room.” 

May had an announcement to make one 
day. 

“ We have a new hand in our room, and she 
has come to my bench.” 

“What is her name?” asked Mr. Shattuck. 

“ Arvie Estey, and she is from the city 
somewhere. She is just like a person out of 
jail. She says she never was out in the coun- 
try but once before, and she declares she is 
glad she has plenty of room in which to run 
about and use her limbs. She says she pities 
folks that have lost their legs or arms.” 

“ I should think anybody would.” 

“ She is queer, but she seems to take to me.” 

May's neighbor in the workroom did take 


56 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

to her, while very unlike her. This Arvillah 
Estey was a girl with a sharp, peaked face, as 
if it had often been in the vice of hunger, and 
squeezed down accordingly. Everything 
about the coloring of her face was light. Her 
hair was a light brown, her complexion was 
light, and her eyes were a very light blue. 
These also had a startled look as if she feared 
that Hunger might take another nip at her. 

May and Arvie met one morning on their 
way to the factory, and walked along to- 
gether. 

“ I have to walk, M^y, two miles from the 
place where I board, but I don’t care one bit 
for it. I am so wild in the morning — glad, 
you know — when I wake up and find I am not 
in the city. It takes muqh as two miles to get 
me tamed down to what is decent. Oh, I 
don’t believe I could breathe if I should get in 
there again. May, do you like cripples ? ” 

“ Pickles?” 

“Pickles! No, but cripples. Don’t you 
pity folks that have lost a hand, or a foot, or 
any part of them ? ” 

“That stays on your mind, don’t it? You 
have said that before.” 

“ I suppose I have, but it is so nice to have 
the whole of you, so that you can do what 


UP ON THE MOUNTAIN. 57 

you please and run round, you know. Oh, 
good ! I’ve got my freedom ! ” 

Arvie capered, and frisked, and ran about, 
and said she would like to get down and roll 
over on the grass, it looked so clean and soft. 

“ There’s the mountain ! ” called out May, 
wishing to divert the mind of this animal. 
They had passed a clump of trees hiding “ Old 
Moose,” and its great, royal head of granite 
now towered up, leaning against the sky? No, 
the sky seemed to droop and rest upon its 
shoulders. 

“ Oh ! ” ejaculated Arvie. “ I don’t believe 
there was ever anything half so grand, May.” 

“ Well, I think it is very fine, though I .sup- 
pose I have become somewhat used to it.” 

“ I wish I could climb that mountain to its 
very top and then sit on it.” 

Lots of room for a seat.” 

“ I wish I was there. Don’t many of the 
blueberries we use, come from Moose Moun- 
tain ? ” 

“ Good many of them. Lots of people 
make a business of berry picking and they go 
up there and stay there.” 

“Oh, couldn’t we go. May?” 

“ I dare .say.” 

“ Come ! let’s get up a party.” 


58 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


“ But there is our work.” 

“ Oh, we could get Mr. Prentiss to let us off 
for a day, and if he would agree to take the 
berries we picked, we shouldn’t lose anything 
by it ! ” 

“We might ask him.” 

“No harm in trying! It won’t cost any- 
thing.” 

The girls consulted the superintendent and 
obtained his prompt consent. Tim was 
secured as a guide. The girls were ready to 
leave the Shattuck-home in the morning, Arvie 
having come down from her home that she 
might be ready for the early start proposed. 

“ I’m going along without Tim,” observed 
May. 

“ Oh, you wait! I will go to the door at the 
foot of the stairs once more and see if I can’t 
start him. Tim — Tim — Tim — Timoth^^ ! ” 
shrieked Mrs. Shattuck. 

“ That will bring you, Tim, I know,” she 
added. 

“ Coming ! ” was Tim’s sleepy answer. 

Tim was finally ready, and the party follow- 
ing the road to “ Meader Lane,” here digressed. 
Swinging their pails, chatting blithely, laugh- 
ing, the party hastened down the lane toward 
“ Old Moose.” They could see the magnifi- 


UP ON THE MOUNTAIN. 59 

cent summit above the trees, and the blue sky 
about it was only a mantle for the proud 
shoulders. 

“You can’t swing your pail that fashion, 
Arvie, when we come back,” shouted Tim. 

“ Oh, we shall come back loaded, I expect,” 
said May. 

“ I am willing to work hard if I can only fill 
my pail and — and — get close up to that motm- 
tain and feel it and stand on it,” cried Arvie 
enthusiastically. “ Then I shall come back 
happy.” 

“ We shall all come back conquerors,” 
observed Tim, “about an hour after sunset. 
Tired, oh, how tired we shall be, but with 
pails just brim full.” 

With these pleasant imaginings of their 
probable appearance at night, they gayly 
entered the woods covering the base of 
the mountain, and their young voices echoed 
amid the deep, silent forests of pine. As the 
road climbed higher and higher, view-points 
were reached, and here they would turn and 
look back on the land sinking lower and lower, 
and spreading wider and wider. Arvie was in 
ecstasy. It was her “ first mountain.” She 
sang, laughed, ran, and was more like a bird 
than a human being. ‘‘So glad I am not a 


6o TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

cripple ! ” she said. “ I can run, I can handle, 
I can — do anything ! ” 

Up, up, they went with the ascending road. 
“ Oh, see that log house ! " cried Arvie. 

Near the old mountain-way was the famous 
camp that Barnabas Locke and Tom Parlin 
had occupied in a previous volume. The 
berry-party stopped and looked within its 
rough walls. 

“ Did you ever see one before ? ” asked Tim, 
turning to Arvie. 

“Oh, never! ” she replied, her eyes eagerly 
taking in this wonderful building. “ Splen- 
did ! I like it lots better than our houses 
down below.” 

“ When folks get caught on the mountain,” 
said Tim impressively, “ in a big storm, say, 
or when the wind blows — or if they get lost 
or—” 

“Splendid!” declared Arvie. “Don’t I 
wish we might ! ” 

“Nonsense ! ” said May. 

“You couldn’t be lost with me!” declared 
Tim confidently. “ I know all round this 
mountain.” 

“Tell us where the big blueberry patch is, 
as they call it,” asked May. 

“ lust over here at the right. We leave the 


UP ON THE MOUNTAIN. 


6l 


camp and go into the woods, and in about five 
minutes, we come to a lot of open ground, 
rocky and bushy. Berries are thicker than 
rain-drops over there. This way ! Come 
along ! This way ! ” cried Tim. 

He plunged boldly into the thick woods, 
his companions gleefully following, now tramp- 
ing down the thick undergrowth, then rush- 
ing across the bare, level tracts. 

“ Oh, see that big tree ! ” called out Arvie. 

“Yes,’' added Tim, “that is an old settler. 
I have been up here, many a time. Look at 
that big knot near the ground, or not far 
above it.” 

“ I can reach it,” said May, laying her hands 
on the big knot. “ And oh, standing here 
you can just see the camp ! ” 

“ Your last chance to see that thing,” ob- 
served Tim. “ Wanf to see it, Arvie ? ” 

“ I want to see what is ahead. Let us push 
on.” 

May however turned again and could just 
make out the form of the old camp. 

“Last chance, Tim? You talk rather dis- 
couragingly,” said May. 

“Ha-ha, you old woman! Don’t you wor- 
ry. I’ll bring you out all right. Come 
on!” 


62 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“ It may be old-womanish,” thought May, 
“ but ril keep that big tree in sight if I 
can.” 

When they reached the big berry-tract 
whose bushes were spread over an extensive 
fraction of the mountain-slope in that neigh- 
borhood, May looked back and saw with 
satisfaction the summit of the big pine shoot- 
ing above its neighbors and bending stiffly in 
the breeze. 

“ Oh, how thick are the berries! ” exclaimed 
Arvie. “ Isn’t this splendid ! ” 

The berry pickers went diligently to work 
and soon noticed other harvesters. A voice 
would be heard in the clear mountain-air, and 
then a head would pop suddenly above the 
green bushes. At noon, Tim’s party went to 
a brook that splashed across the berry-grounds, 
and there beside the cool, clear waters, they 
took their lunch. 

“ Never had a dinner on a mountain be- 
fore ! ” said Arvie, who thoroughly appreciated 
this new mountain-experience. “ I would like 
to stay here all the time.” 

Tim wanted to push off into a new berry- 
quarter after dinner, and Arvie was still more 
eager. May though influenced them to stay 
in the old neighborhood. 


UP ON THE MOUNTAIN. 63 

I don’t care,” she thought, to get out of 
sight of that old pine.” 

She would often turn from the noisy, chat- 
tering groups about her, and look off to that 
big, silent, lonely tree-top rising above the 
green forest. 

The pails of the girls were filled by the last 
of the afternoon, but Tim had ambitiously 
taken a very large pail, and now said, “ Girls, 
I won’t ask you to go with me, but I want to 
find a new place and fill my pail — you see how 
large it is! You stay right here and enjoy 
yourselves, and I’ll come here when I get 
through, and will take you home.” 

“Oh, Tim!” involuntarily exclaimed May 
who thoroughly understood Tim’s disposition 
to temporize, and once away when would this 
berry-picker come back? 

“ There, Sis, don’t you worry ! I’ll come 
back in season and take you home all right.” 

“ If you’ll stay here, Tim, we will fill your 
pail for you, won’t we, Arvie ? ” 

“ Yes, indeed,” said Arvie. 

“ Nonsense ! As if I would let girls fill up 
my berry-pail!” said Tim. “No, you stay 
here. I’ll holler now and then so that you 
will know where I am. I’ll be back soon.” 

After Tim’s disappearance, his clear, ringing 


64 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

voice could be heard at intervals, the girls 
replying. His voice though grew fainter and 
fainter and finally ceased to be heard. An 
insect would fly past the girls, humming 
busily, and the solitary, penetrating call of a 
bird would be heard, but not Tim’s voice. 
Other pickers left the bushes, and the sun 
had <2:one down behind the summit of the 
mountain, though his light still lingered in far 
off valleys. 

“ Where is that Tim ? He said he would be 
back ‘ s<PO/// and Tim’s ‘ soon ’ will sometimes 
reach from Barkton to — ” 

“Polynesia!” suggested Arvie laughing. 
“ Oh, let him be ! We are having a good 
time.” 

“ But you don’t want the boy to be lost — 
or — ” 

“Oh, he won’t be. And if were, I 
shouldn’t care one bit. I would like to see 
how it seems.” 

“ IVe won’t be, for there is the top of that 
big pine tree, and it is good as a guide-board 
telling us where the camp is. I am just going 
to shout loud as I can. Let’s both holler! ” 

Two girl voices loud, clear, shrill, echoed 
over the mountain ledges and then penetrated 
the great, shadowy forests, dying away with 


UP ON THE MOUNTAIN. 65 

insect-notes and bird-twitterings that were en- 
tangled among the branches of pine, fir, and 
hemlock, and never came out again. 

“ Not the least sort of an answer, Arvie ! I 
don’t like to think so, but I don’t believe Tim 
knows himself where he is. I think we had 
better hold on right here, long as we can see 
that big pine-top, and perhaps Tim will 
come.” 

“Just as you say. May. I am happy. 
Don’t care if we have to stay here a week ! ” 

“ What a girl ! ” 

“ No, I don’t care one bit. I feel free up 
here. Never knew anything like it. Why we 
can go about all we want to. We are not like 
those people who want legs or arms — ” 

“ How that does seem to be on your mind ! ” 
“And we have- plenty of berries to eat and 
have all the water we want and more too, and 
if it rains we can make a house of boughs — ” 
“ Ugh ! that would be cold.” 

•“ Well, then, we could go into that camp and 
be happy there as queens. Let that Tim go ! 
Who wants a boy round? ” 

“ Tim-m-m ! ” shouted May, who felt that it 
would be nice just at this time to have that 
particular boy somewhere near. There was no 
response to this or to other calls. The moun- 

5 


66 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


tain grew lonelier. The winds began to lift 
their wings and beat them against the pines. 
The air was cooler, even chilling. The shadows 
deepened, and from all the valleys and hill-tops 
about Moose Mountain, every ray of light 
seemed to fade. 

“ I don’t know as I can make out that tree- 
top now,” said May, “ though I know where it 
is. I’ll call once more. Tim-m-m ! ” 

No answer. 

“Come, let’s go, Arvie, this way!” 

“Oh isn’t this splendid! May, I can’t see 
hardly a bit. Good ! are you sure you could 
see that tree-top ? Because if you couldn’t, 
where are we going? I don’t care, just as lief 
get lost as not. Good, good, good ! ” 

“Why, Arvie, I do believe you are crazy.” 

“No, May, I have got all my wits sure as 
you — you are born; but don’t you know — I 
never had anything like this time before? It’s 
jolly ! ” 

“ Well, we will enjoy it all we can. Come 
after me, I will find that tree. It is — just 
ahead.” 

But was it just ahead ? The girls could not 
find it ! 

% 

“Let me see, how do you tell it. May? I 
don’t care if you don’t find it. ” 


UP ON THE MOUNTAIN. 


6 ; 


“ Oh, you girl ! .But I have found it. Here 
is the big trunk that we can’t put our arms 
about possibly, and here is the big knot-hole. 
Now we are all right. Now I feel at home. 
The camp is— over there ! ” 

May was pointing in the dark at something 
also in the dark. 

“All right. May! Go ahead and I’ll 
follow ; or, let me go ahead, and you fol- 
low ! ” 

“You go ahead? You would take me to 
the top of Moose Mountain.” 

“ And wouldn’t I like to go there and see the 
sun rise ! Come ! let us wake up early and go 
up and see that sun get up 1 ” 

“ Now stop ! The only son I am after is 
that bad boy who said he would be back 
‘ soon.’ ‘ Soon ! ’ I might have known how 
he would act. I am going to call once more. 
Tim-m-m ! ” 

“Here!” 

“You Arvie, quit! Now follow me. On 
for the camp ! ” 

The girls bravely pushed ahead. 

“Oh!” shrieked Arvie. “No! I’m glad!” 
she added in a very different tone. 

“ What is the matter ? ” 

“ I hit my pail against something, and I 


68 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


guess I have lost half my berries. I don’t 
care, let them go.” 

“ A very profitable day this is for us ! ” said 
May. 

Yes, zfery. It has been the richest day I 
ever knew.” 

“ But the night ! ” 

“ Still better ! ” 

Joking, laughing, the two girls moved on, 
occasionally striking a tree with their pails, 
and then screaming merrily over the loss. 
But where was the camp? It failed to disclose 
itself. Eventually, May felt that she was 
going down into a hollow. 

Oh-h-h, Arvie ! There ! I just saved 
myself from tumbling down somewhere. 
Why, it is real steep ! Where are we ? ” 

“ Don’t know ! ” said Arvie, giggling. 

“ Well, go back, girl ! We are on the edge 
of a deep hole of some kind. Look out, 
Arvie ! ” The girls struggled up to higher 
ground, and then May halted. “ Now, Arvie, 
I am going to try once more to find that log- 
camp, and if it don’t turn up soon, we must 
stop right where we are.” 

“ All right ! How many berries have you 
left in your pail? Mine are three quarters 
gone, I guess, by the feeling.” 


UP ON THE MOUNTAIN. 69 

“ Berries ! I haven’t any pail even. I 
heard it rolling down into that deep hole 
where we almost tumbled ourselves.” 

“What do you suppose the hole was?” 
“There is a brook, Parlin’s brook — ” 

“ Oh, I know where it comes out and cuts 
across the road.” 

“Well, that brook goes down through a 
ravine as they call it, and I guess we got into 
that, or came near getting into it.” 

“Come! I’ve got an idea! Let’s follow 
* the brook and we will get home that way ! 
What say ? ” 

“ That brook ! Oh, it goes through swampy 
places and over rocks and steep places and — I 
don’t know what. No, let’s bunk down — here! 
There, now ! We don’t seem to find the 
camp, and where we are is shut in from the 
wind, and it feels soft on the ground, leaves, 
you know, and moss—” 

“ So it is ! Well, we will stop here. Real 
sheltered here, nice and shady ! ” 

“ Shady ! It’s deeper shade than I want. 
I’ve got my back against a tree — ” 

“ Now let’s tell stories I I know a lot, about 
Tom Thumb and fairies and^ — oh, lots ! I will 
begin. Once upon a time, there was a young 
prince who was very prompt and — ” 


70 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“ Whose name was 7iot Tim/’ 

“ No, indeed ! I’ll get to that.” 

Arvie rattled off her story, and then May 
told one, but the girls were tired, and soon 
there were breaks in their sentences. They 
wearily yawned, confessed that they were 
sleepy, and ere long there was only one story- 
teller that was awake, the wind, the never- 
wearied wind. It murmured amid the heavy 
drooping branches of the trees its story of 
the deep valleys and lofty mountain-tops it had 
visited, of the great forests it had rocked, of 
the fields across which it had had such exciting 
races, its voice growing softer and softer in the 
ears of the girls till they were entirely lost to 
all recognition of the outer world, and the 
wind told its story only for its own gratifica- 
tion to the never tired trees. There they 
were, two tired, lost girls in the depths of the 
mountain-forest, fast asleep. 

Where was Tim, that trusted companion of 
female berry-pickers ? 

He was sincere in his purpose to return 
“ soon ” to May and Arvie, but there is noth- 
ing more absorbing than a hunt for berries 
when one is anxious to fill up a desired meas- 
ure. He had strayed from bush to bush, 
wandering farther and farther, till his voice 


UP ON THE MOUNTAIN. 7 1 

failed to reach the girls and their cries did not 
find him. 

“They’ve got tired of calling and so they 
have stopped,” he concluded. “ Well, Til go 
to them ‘ soon ’ ! ” When he started to return, 
he did not anticipate any difficulty in finding 
them, but he did not find them. The night 
came on and he was perplexed. He thought 
of one possible way of relief. 

“ There is the wind ! This afternoon it was 
blowing west, from the camp over toward the 
*berry-grounds. Now, let me feel the current 
of wind ! Oh Tve got it ! It is coming from 
that quarter, and over there must be the camp. 
Anyway, if I don’t hit the camp, I may run 
into the road, and that will take me to the 
camp. All right ! Here goes for you, old 
wind! All right ! ” 

All wrong 1 The wind had shifted, and if 
he had persistently followed its guidance, he 
would have struck the top of Moose Mountain 
where he would have had more wind than he 
could comfortably have managed. He became 
discouraged, abandoned this trail of wind, 
turned aside and ran into Parlin’s Ravine. 
When he began to rush down its steep side he 
knew at once where he had arrived, and grasp- 
ing anything within reach, he held on to the 


. J2 • TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

vigorously rooted bushes. Then he backed up 
again, retreated a short distance into the forest, 
and sinking down, began to whistle ! 

“ Don’t I wish I was home ! Don’t I wish I 
knew where those girls were ! Well, it wont do 
any good to worry, though I will call once 
more.” 

“ May-y-y-y ! ” 

The ravine said “ Ay-y-y ! ” and the top of 
the mountain said “Ay-y-y ! ” and the forest 
said “ Ay-y-y ! ” and responses seemed to come 
in all directions. There was not a voice though 
he wanted to hear. He walked some distance 
but finally stopped. He threw himself on the 
ground and dropping his head lower and lower, 
he forgot all his troubles, all his perplexities 
and anxieties, in that compassionate slumber 
that brings restful forgetfulness to earth’s 
weary ones. 

It may have been an hour after this that 
May Shattuck was disturbed in her sleep. She 
fancied she was at Seaton, and her father was 
in Barkton, and he was shouting to her to come 
home. 

“ Ridiculous ! ” she was saying to herself. 
“ What is father doing away off there ? Does 
he think he can make me hear at that 
distance ? ” 


UP ON THE MOUNTAIN. 73 

With her father’s voice, were mingled other 
tones. Barnabas Locke was famous in the 
neighborhood for his strong, ringing voice, and 
Barnabas Locke in Barkton was now shouting 
to May Shattuck in Seaton. These voices 
were so urgent that May finally opened her 
eyes, and through the forest she caught the 
flash of lights. 

“Quick, Arvie, they’re coming! Wake 
up 1 ” said May, and then she cried out, 
“Tiere, father 1 ” 

There was stillness a moment, and next a 
clatter of voices, and someone — it sounded like 
Mr. Shattuck — said, “ Call again ! ” 

“ Here, father ! ” 

In a moment a loud, wild “ Hurrah ! ” rang 
through the forest, and Mr. Shattuck, Mr. Pren- 
tiss, Barnabas Locke, Tom Parlin, and a troop 
of companions rushed up to May, who was try- 
ing to arouse the stupefied Arvie and prepare 
her for the unexpected visitors. 

“Hullo, May!” “You here, Arvie!” 
“ That’s good ! ” “ Here they are ! ” were some 

of the shouts greeting the awakened girls, 
while the sharp light of lanterns flashed on 
every side. 

“ Where’s Tim?” asked Mr. Shattuck. 

“ Here ! ” said a sleepy voice, and they saw 


74 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


Tim rubbing his eyes and advancing from his 
resting-place at the base of a tree not more 
than six feet away from the girls ! A chorus of 
shouts now welcomed Tim. 

“ Well, where have you been, young folks?” 
asked Mr. Shattuck. 

“ Where?'' replied Arvie. “ We have been 
having just a splendid time. I wanted to wake 
up in time to see the sun rise from the top of 
old Moose, and I thought your lights were the 
sun getting up.” 

There was a confession — rather mortifying 
to Tim — that the party had lost its way, and 
it leaked out that Tim was responsible for the 
catastrophe. 

“ It would have been all right if that camp 
hadn’t run away from us. Where is the thing ? 
Couldn’t find it! ” declared Tim, 

“ Camp ? ” replied Barnabas Locke. “ It’s 
about twenty feet sou-west of us.” 

Twenty ! ” ejaculated Tim. “ Horrible ! 
Let’s go home I ” 

“Well, we will,” said Mr. Shattuck, “ soon 
as you get together your berries.” 

“ Owing to circumstances beyond my con- 
trol,” replied Tim who had spilled the most of 
his harvest, “ my berries have turned out 
slim.” 


UP ON THE MOUNTAIN. 


75 


“ But May ! ” said her father. 

“ Lost my pail down in that old ravine ! ” 
said May. 

“ And what I didn’t spill, I have been eat- 
ing,” added Arvie. 

Chattering, jabbering, laughing, the rescuers 
and the rescued went down the mountain and 
reaching the highway, scattered to their homes. 
It was a long time before Tim ceased to hear 
of that night when he was lost on the moun- 
tain. 


CHAPTER VI. 


AT LAST, A BOARDER. 

^ /r OTHER,” the young people would 

J^V JL often ask, “ where is that board- 
er?” 

“ Coming, coming ! ” Mrs. Shattuck would 
say. Little did they think who it would be. 

The drive of autumn work at the canning 
factory was not over yet. To hasten results, 
the superintendent had put in a piece of very 
energetic machinery. 

“ Look out for it, for it won’t look out for 
you,” was the superintendent’s warning to his 
hands. 

‘'Of course!” cried Arvie. “We have 
some sense, haven’t we, May?” 

“Yes, indeed,” replied her workmate. It 
was a bright autumn day when Arvie said the 
above, and a strong wind like a broom had 
been sweeping down the slopes of Moose 
Mountain, and before it went all the filmy 
flecks of vapor above field and meadow, leav- 
76 


AT LAST, A BOARDER. 


77 


ing a clear, shining atmosphere, up through 
which towered Moose Mountain in all its 
grandeur, and the outlines of its summit rose 
up sharp against the sky as if chiseled by titan 
sculptors. 

Near the bench where May and Arvie 
worked, was a window from which a view of 
Moose Mountain could be had. 

“ Oh, didn’t we have a good time up on the 
mountain that day, running about and getting 
lost ? ” 

Arvie rattled away, not waiting for an an- 
swer from her companion. She finally said, “ It 
is so good to be whole, I think, so you can go 
about and can do what you want. Nice to 
have hands and feet ! What would I do if I 
didn’t have them ! ” 

Seems to me that subject gives you a good 
deal of trouble,” said May, looking thought- 
fully out of the window. “ Well, if I were 
that way, I suppose I should get used to it 
somehow. Folks do, you know, get used to 
things, Arvie.” 

“ So they do. May. When you come to 
think of it, it is just so in this life. We do get 
used to things. It is so at home. There are 
all my brothers and sisters, and my father has 
real small wages. How wc ever got along, I 


78 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

don’t know, but we did. I suppose it is so al- 
ways. Yes, we get used to things. People 
get used to being poor. Same way with blind 
folks and everybody else too.” 

She looked a moment longer out of the 
window and then said, “Well, this won’t do 
for me. I believe Mr. Prentiss has something 
for me to do upstairs.” 

She had not been gone five minutes when 
May heard a strange clamor. It came from a 
room directly above her, and as the doors be- 
tween were all open, May could distinctly 
hear it. The noise was that of a single shriek 
from a girl’s voice, “Help!” Then there 
was the agonized shouting of a man'; “Stop 
that machinery, won’t you ? Quick!” Then 
the sound of feet hurrying over the floor was 
heard, interrupted by other shrieks and other 
shouts. The clatter of the machinery came to 
a halt. People left their work and ran up- 
stairs. May hurried with them. She turned 
her head quickly when she reached the next 
story and saw a confused crowd around the 
new machinery. Then she witnessed a scat- 
tering of the people, as out of the centre of 
the group, somebody or something was borne. 

“What’s — what’s the matter?” asked the 
superintendent, rushing up. 


AT LAST, A BOARDER. 


79 


May caught words about “ accident,” 
“new machinery,” “girl hurt,” but May did 
not need to ask the name of the unfortunate. 
Borne in the arms of several men, her pale, 
white face drooping, the eyes closed, convul- 
sive twitches passing over her features — was 
Arvie ! They stopped a minute, and some one 
said, “ There ! I have tied my handkerchief 
above the wound. That will stop the blood.” 

“Oh — Oh — is she hurt bad?” cried May, 
the tears filling her eyes. 

“ Stand away, sis ! ” said a workman. 

“Take her down to the office, and, Jones, 
get the doctor,” said the superintendent. 
“ Quick ! ” 

“Jones” was an overseer, and he quickly 
secured a physician who visited Arvie in the 
office and doing all that was possible there, 
directed her to be taken home. The super- 
intendent’s carriage was waiting at the door. 
Mr. Shattuck was there also. 

“ Shattuck,” said the superintendent, “I 
know your wife is a careful nurse and the 
people where Arvie boards — her only home 
here — are not the best hands for any sickness. 
They say you want a boarder, and if you will 
let me send the girl there, I will see that the 
bill is paid until she is able to be out again.” 


8o 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


“ Well/’ said Mr. Shattuck deliberately, 
“ I guess it will be all right. I suppose the 
carriage will come slowly, and I will run ahead 
and let my wife know, and we will be ready 
for the girl.” 

In a very little time the long expected 
“ boarder,” shivering, convulsed with pain, 
with closed eyes and compressed lips, arrived 
at the door of the Shattucks. 

“ Poor girl ! Come right in ! " said Mrs. 
Shattuck in motherly tones that went to 
Arvie’s heart. “ Poor girl ! We will do all 
we can for you.” 

Arvie was carried upstairs into the long 
waiting “ spare room ” on the second floor, and 
laid upon the bed. The doctor followed. 

“ Oh — oh, father ! ” said May, detaining Mr. 
Shattuck whom she met at the door after hur- 
rying home. “ What is it ? Some folks say it 
is one thing and some another. What is it > ” 

“ May, Arvie has lost an arm ; caught in 
the machinery.” 

“ Oh, dear ! And she didn’t want to lose 
that ! Left or right, father ? ” 

Left. I am sorry for her. We will do all 
we can.” 

May went away soberly. “ I wish I could 
pray, and I’d pray for, Arvie/’ thought May! lid 


AT LAST, A BOARDER. 


8l 


The doctor said Arvie must be kept very 
quiet that night, and no one had better see 
her save Mrs. Shattuck. The next day, Arvie 
inquired for May, and her mother admitted 
her as soon as she had returned from the can- 
ning factory. It was a clear but chilly autumn 
evening. The sun going down behind Moose 
Mountain had flamed with unusual brilliancy 
as if, aware that the night would be a cold 
one, it were laying a few extra sticks on its 
ruddy fires in the west. A cricket in the 
dying grass by the front door-step was trying 
to give a cheerful chirp. Did he imagine that 
Jack Frost might silence him that night and he 
wished all the world to know that his music to 
the last was brave and hopeful? In the east, 
one white star was putting its head shrinkingly 
out into the chilly air as if getting up courage 
for an all-night illumination. May gave an- 
other glance at the last fires of the sunset and 
then at the pale little star in the east, and said, _ 
“ Good-night, little cricket, and good-by till 
spring if I don’t see you again!” 

‘‘May,” said her mother from the head of 
the stairs, “ Arvie has been calling for you, 
and you may come up if you want to, when 
your hat and sack are off.” 

“ Oh, may I ? I will right away.” 

6 


82 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


Although the furnishing of the front cham- 
ber was rather scanty — as it is always hard to 
make six equal to twelve — still the room had 
a comfortable, homelike look. Mrs. Shattuck 
had brought in a yellow stand, a few chairs- 
including a softly-cushioned rocker, and two 
red and black rag-mats. The special orna- 
ment and comforter though was the fireplace. 
Mrs. Shattuck had planted there a pair of 
old-fashioned andirons that she found up gar- 
ret, and Tim, who had been very helpful in 
the present emergency, showing remarkable 
promptness, had brought up huge armfuls of 
wood from the shed. A glowing fire was the 
result of all the finding and lugging, and a 
radiance from this centre had gone all about 
the room like the smile that spreads over the 
face of a cheerful old grandmother. 

“May!” whispered somebody whose pale 
face and light hair pressed the clean, white 
pillow. 

“ Poor Arvie ! ” exclaimed May, looking 
compassionately at the white face. “ Tm real 
sorry for you. Does it pain you ? ” 

May shrank from saying arm. During 
Arvie’s sickness, the member in trouble was 
designated as “ it.” 

“ It does hurt. May.” 


AT LAST, A BOARDER. 


83 


“ Now, girls,”, exclaimed Mrs. Shattuck, who 
had been bustling about the room, stimulating 
the fire, smoothing the rag-mats, and dropping 
the curtains at the windows, “ I am going 
down to get supper, and I will leave you 
alone. Don’t talk much to Arvie, May. Just 
sit by her bed and keep pretty quiet.” Mrs. 
Shattuck whispered, “ You can sort of baby 
her and humor her.” 

“ I will, mother.” 

Arvie was the talkative member of this little 
party of two. 

May ! ” she said in low tones. 

“ What ? ” 

“ I don’t want to be saying too much, 
but—” 

There w^as an awkward silence. The fire 
talked, and the autumn wind without talked, 
but the girls were now still. May turned to 
Arvie — and were there hot tears glistening in 
the sick girl’s eyes ? 

“ Oh, I wouldn’t, Arvie.” 

“ I won’t. May, but — but, don’t it seem 
queer ? ” 

“ Yes, Arvie, too bad ! ” 

What do you suppose it was for? ” 

I don’t know, I am sure.” 

Why couldn’t I have done my work and 


84 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

gone home like the other girls, and it not 
happened ? ” 

“ I don’t know. Too bad ! ” 

There was another season of silence. Only 
the fire and the wind talked. 

“ May ! ” 

“ What, Arvie ? ” 

“ Can’t you say a prayer? ” 

Between the bed and the fire in the chim- 
ney, Arvie saw a head shaking. That meant 
“ no.” 

More moments of silence. A dread came 
over May, and she now wished she was out of 
the room. Perhaps her mother would bring 
up Arvie’s supper and that would relieve May 
who felt that her position had become very 
embarrassing. It seemed as if the heat of the 
fireplace had all gone into May’s face. She 
did hope that Arvie would not renew her 
request. It soon came, though. 

“ I am not afraid, but — ” Arvie paused. 
“ May ! ” she called. 

“ What is it, Arvie ? ” 

“Haven’t you a Bible? There is one on 
the stand.” 

Arvie had seen Mrs. Shattuck bring in the 
volume and lay it on the stand. Something 
was needed for the top of this piece of furni- 







“ HOLDING THE BOOK NEAR THE CANDLE, TURNING HER FACE AWAY FROM 


•I 

{Page Sj.J 







ARVIE. 





AT LAST, A BOARDER. 


85 


ture, and what was there better than this book 
though Mrs. Shattuck had not looked inside 
one for many months? There are hosts of 
people who, like Mrs. Shattuck do not take 
the Bible to ornament their lives, but some- 
how feel that it is good to ornament a table, 
especially if the book have pictures and showy 
covers. May felt that she must obey, or 
opposition might make the patient worse. 
Had she not promised the nurse that she 
would “ humor ” the patient? Conscious that 
she was in an awkward place. May arose and 
bringing the Bible, stood beside the bed. 
Arvie could see the outlines of May’s head, 
but she did not notice the embarrassment in 
May’s face. 

“ I guess there is a candle on the mantle- 
piece, May. I wish you would light it.” 

May lighted the candle. 

“ In the first part of the New Testament — 
somewhere — is the Lord’s Prayer. Couldn’t 
you read it ? ” 

May knew the Lord’s Prayer, but she could 
not have used it as a petition. She could read 
it, and holding the book near the candle, turn- 
ing her face away from Arvie, she read, ‘‘ Our 
Father, who art in Heaven, hallowed be Thy 
Name—’* 


86 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

Arvie had put her only hand up to her face 
and covered it. 

Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done 
on earth, as it is in Heaven — ” 

May thought she caught a sigh, but whether 
it was the wind or Arvie, she could not say. 
There was no sound from the bed during 
the next clause. 

“ Give us this day our daily bread. And 
forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those 
who trespass against us.” 

The one pitiful hand upon Arvie’s face con- 
vulsively moved in that petition for forgive- 
ness. 

And lead us not into temptation, but 
deliver us from evil, for Thine is the kingdom 
and the power and the glory for ever and ever. 
Amen.” 

“ Amen ! ” said a weak voice from the bed. 

** May, you wouldn’t care if I should be 
alone just two or three minutes,” soon asked 
Arvie. 

‘‘Oh no, dear! All right, and I’ll hurry up 
mother.” 

“ Oh you needn’t ! I just wanted to think. 
You won’t care.” 

“ Oh, no ! Don’t speak of it 1 ” 

The attendant in that sick room not only 


AT LAST, A BOARDER. 


87 


was ready to “humor” the patient, but she 
felt that she would be very glad to slip out 
of a very contracted corner. 

“ Queer girl ! ” thought May, as she stepped 
softly down the entry stairs. “ Wild as a 
gypsy on the mountain, and now she wants 
me to pray with her ! Queer girl ! ” 

The strange girl was all alone there in the 
still upper room. Daylight had gone from the 
windows, and in its place were the faint, sil- 
very rays of the candle helped out by the 
flashes of the fire on the hearth. 

So strange to be in that sick-room, to have 
been there at all that day rather than at the 
canning factory, and for what ? The bitter 
tears were oozing from her eyes. Arvie’s im- 
pulse was to cover her face with her hands, but 
did she have hands? Then the thought of that 
poor, lost arm came to her, afflicting her, 
and she raised to her face her only hand, and 
through her fingers trickled the hot tears. Oh, 
she did need some one to help her! If her 
mother were only living! In her place, was an 
unsympathetic step-mother away off. There 
was Arvie’s father, but he was too poor to 
take the journey to Barkton. At her late 
boarding-house, who cared for her? Wasn't 
there a strong friend somewhere ? “ Our 


88 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

Father,” was the echo that seemed to survive 
the prayer May had read, and was not he a 
Friend ? 

“ If a Father and a great one, why does he 
let poor folks suffer, and especially poor 
girls in canning factories ? ” thought Arvie. 
“ Wasn’t it better for me that I should keep 
my arm rather than to lose it?” Her soul 
was a boat on a stormy sea and swept by bil- 
lows too violent for it. 

“ Father, Father! ” she whispered. 

Was it all for the best — that she should lose 
her arm and lie there on the bed, in so much 
pain ? She could not seem to make any head- 
way in her thinking. She would start out but 
would get no farther than that horrid machin- 
ery in the canning factory, rumbling and 
grinding away, horrid as some devouring mon- 
ster. She could not seem to see any good 
reason for her trouble. Was it not strange 
that she who hated to be a cripple in any way, 
should now lose a limb and be hindered from 
her old activity? Why was it ^ If God were 
a Father, would he not tell her? Then she 
remembered that parents did not always tell 
children why things were done, and that when 
the parent might be silent wisely, to the child 
it might seem very unwise, hard and cruel. 


AT LAST, A BOARDER. 89 

Farther along, the child could look back and 
see that the parent was right. 

“ I wonder if it will be so with me ! ” re- 
flected Arvie. 

Then she asked herself this question ; what is 
done by the children when parents don’t tell 
them the reason why this or that course of 
conduct may have been taken ? If they are 
dutiful children, they try to be patient and sub- 
missive, and wait to know some other day the 
reason for any day’s discipline. Could Arvie 
now wait ? 

“ I want to,” she murmured. “ I wish I 
could have some one to help me.” 

As she lay in her bed, she thought the cur- 
tain of the window brightened. 

How can that be ? The fire is dying 
down,” she said, raising herself a little on her 
elbow and looking at the fireplace. The glow 
upon the curtain increased while the glow in the 
fireplace lessened. The candle too was dying. 

“ Ah, I see ! ” she said. “ I can look under 
the edge of the curtain and see the moon 
coming up. What a big one ! ” 

Then a tree before the window began to 
throw soft, light shadows upon the curtain. 
One limb cast a shadow up and down the cur- 
tain. 


90 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“Oh, there is another limb throwing a 
shadow across the first, and they make the 
cross!” exclaimed Arvie. “That is queer!” 

A shadow in the form of a cross attracted 
Arvie’s thoughts, and then it sent them away 
from this chamber. She recalled her Sunday- 
school in the city. She thought of the Saviour 
taught in the school. Christmas and Easter 
came to her. All their beautiful lessons were 
suggested to her. As the perfume of a single 
flower will remind us of the scented garden 
where we have seen its kind growing, that 
shadow of the cross suggested to Arvie the 
Saviour who hung upon it, dying at Calvary in 
His great, tender love for mankind. Did He 
not help all people, Arvie thought, especially 
poor people, sick people, those who could not 
help themselves ? She tried to think how He 
must have looked when He was on the earth, 
going to beds of pain and into homes of pov- 
erty. 

She said, “ I wonder how He looked when he 
was going about 1 I wonder if He goes about 
now 1 Of course He does ; He must. He is 
the Saviour always. I — I — ” 

She hesitated. The thought in her heart 
was this: if He really were near, going by her 
bed, would she not hold out her hand that 


AT LAST, A BOARDER. 9 1 

He might grasp it and lead her and guide 
her? 

“If I had two hands, Td give Him both/’ 
she murmured. “ I don’t believe He will push 
one away. Perhaps, He will be all the more 
interested, if He sees only one. He will say, 
‘ There is no other hand and I pity — ’ ” 

She could think no further. Sorrow was 
rocking her soul as the sea tosses a boat. 
Then came a stillness. She only said, “ I — I 
— do think He is near.” 

The fire on the hearth was sinking lower 
and the cross on the curtain was more dis- 
tinct. 

“ I would like to rest now,” she murmured. 

Mrs Shattuck was detained down-stairs 
longer than she expected. Somebody wished 
to see her, and then Arvie’s supper must 
be prepared. When she did enter Arvie’s 
chamber, gently pushing the door open, she 
saw that the fire was only a bed of red coals, 
and the candle had sputtered for the last time, 
and gone out. She set down the supper tray, 
lighted another candle, and then went to the 
bedside. 

“ Arvie ! ” she said softly. 

She held up the candle above the bed and 
looked down. 


92 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


“Why, she is asleep!" said Mrs. Shattuck. 
“ Guess I won’t wake her. I’ll go down-stairs 
for a minute.’’ 

When she entered the kitchen, she said to 
May, “Arvie is sleeping. That is good.” 

“ Mother,” replied May, “ I believe Arvie is 
getting religious.” 

She spoke in a suppressed tone of voice. 
“ Religion ” was a mysterious subject in the 
Shattuck home. 


CHAPTER VII. 


A FIGHT WITH ONE HAND. 

<< T AM sure, Tim, I am perplexed.” 

X “I dare say you are, mother, but I 
shouldn’t fret myself into a fever about it.” 

“ I don’t intend to, but something must be 
done.” 

“ Oh, well, mother, take it easy, take it 
easy.” 

Tim, that is your way of talking, but I am 
glad to say it is not my way of doing. Arvie 
herself spoke to me about it. You see she is 
doing nicely, has begun to go out, and now 
the question with her is what to do in life. 
She don’t want to go home to her poor folks, 
and yet what can she do?” 

“Oh, well, don’t worry.” 

Here, Tim, as he sat before the fire, so 
acceptable this night when the ground was 
white with snow, indulged in a lazy yawn. 

** There, Tim,” replied his mother, her eyes 
snapping, “ that style of talking just stirs me 
93 


94 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


up. Here is a girl with one hand, and life is 
before her, and she must make her fight with 
one hand. You say, ‘don’t worry, take it 
easy’ ; but people freeze to death who act that 
way out in the cold. Now, something must 
be done, doney done ! I am going down to see 
Mr. Prentiss, the superintendent, to-morrow 
morning, the first thing, and see what can be 
done.” 

The next morning, true to her word, she 
started for the canning factory. On her way, 
she put her head inside of the door of the 
Jones-home. 

“ I only stopped,” she said, “ to say how-d’y- 
do and inquire how you all are.” 

“ About as usual,” replied the old sailor, 
Ben Bowler, ending his report with a cough as 
if to say, “You see though I’m no better.” 

“ I’ll, just step inside so as not to keep that 
door open. Where is Susan ? ” 

“ She’s out. Here is Billy.” 

Susan was Mrs. Jones, Billy’s mother. Her 
son, who stood before a looking-glass combing 
his hair, answered for himself. 

“ Hav’n’t you overslept, Billy? Our folks 
have been gone to work for more than an 
hour.” 

“ I change my work to-day, and don’t begin 


A FIGHT WITH ONE HAND. 95 

till this noon. I have been doing most any- 
thing, errands, and so on ; now I have got a job 
on winter-pears. Going to can those.” 

“ I wish I could think of something for 
Arvie.” 

“ She can have my place as far as I am con- 
cerned.” 

Mrs. Shattuck said good morning and left 
for the office of the superintendent. Mr. 
Prentiss was at his desk. 

“ Oh, Mrs. Shattuck, you called I suppose, 
with your bill for Arvie’s board ? The com- 
pany will pay that, and I will settle to-day, 
just as well as not.” 

That was not on my mind. I wanted to 
know if you did not have some kind of work 
for Arvie.” 

“That is what I have asked myself,” said 
Mr. Prentiss, leaning back in his chair. He 
was a man of much energy, but it was not an 
energy that makes itself disagreeable, pressing 
down upon those employed while he pressed 
them forward. He was always interested in 
their welfare, always ready to listen to their 
requests and grant them if he could. 

“ Mrs. Shattuck, if I only knew what to give 
Arvie, I would gladly do it. What is there 
that poor, one-handed girl can do?” 


96 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“ Something, I know. A fight with one 
hand is a hard matter, but that is sometimes 
done. What is it young Jones has been do- 
ing? I believe he has got through with that 
job.’' 

“ Oh, he has been a kind of errand boy, to go 
to the post-office, to take an order from the 
office to the men, to go over to the railroad 
station, to buy anything at the stores.” 

“Well, couldn’t Arvie do that?” 

“ Would she, Mrs. Shattuck?” 

“ I think it would be a good idea to ask 
her.” 

“You — you ask her and then tell me.” 

Mrs. Shattuck asked Arvie and then Arvie 
surprised her with her answer. 

“ Mrs. Shattuck, now I more than ever be- 
lieve God hears prayer.” 

“ You— you — what ? ” 

Prayer was a perplexing phenomenon to 
Mrs. Shattuck, and she stared at Arvie who 
had so abruptly diverted her thoughts. 

“ Why, I asked God to give me something I 
could do with one hand. I thanked him for 
my feet. Oh, how rich I am in my power to 
go about ! And I asked God to give me 
something to do where I could go about. 
Now there comes this chance. You tell Mr. 


A FIGHT WITH ONE HAND. 


97 


Prentiss — no, I’ll tell him myself! I’ll begin 
to-morrow if he wants me. Why, I shall 
make a good errand - girl, I know I shall. 
Oh, you are so good I You dear, dear woman, 
I must kiss you.” 

“The strangest girl I ever saw,” thought 
Mrs. Shattuck as she tripped down-stairs. 
“ She appreciates all you do, and I like that in 
her. Seems like a daughter. To think though 
that prayer had anything to do with it, with 
my going to the office and getting that place 
for Arvie ! Strangest girl I ever did see ! ” 

7 




Aik- 


CHAPTER VIII. 

THE OLD sailor’s STORV. 



HAT old sailor, Uncle Ben Bowler, sat 


as close to the kitchen stove as one 


comfortably could without scorching. Such 
proximity was not strange. It was a cold 
night in December. It was a night full of 
snow. The great blasts that came down from 
Moose Mountain were laden with snow, and 
over and about the Jones-cottage, they shook 
themselves till the little building was hand- 
somely powdered as the wig of an old-time 
gentleman going to a dinner-party. Uncle 
Ben Bowler very much wished that a troop of 
young people would come in to ask for one of 
his stories. With or without the asking, they 
were very sure of a story from the old sailor. 
His active duties in this life seemed to be 
limited to three things, making fishing lines, 
bringing in wood for the fire, and telling 
stories. There was little space in Barkton for 
the first occupation. At the present time. 


98 


THE OLD sailor’s STORY. 


99 


there was no call for the second, a big wood- 
box having been already filled. If some one 
then would only come and ask for a story ! 
The old sailor turned his big, bleached blue 
eyes toward the door, and longed to hear a 
footstep. Uncle Ben Bowler was famous for 
his sea stories. They interested the teller 
fully as much as the listener, for it gave Uncle 
Ben an opportunity to live his life over, to 
hear the sea-winds blow, to catch the lift and 
feel the roll of the waves, to tingle again with 
the excitement of an adventure that at this 
distance from the sea gave only pleasure and 
involved no danger. It is true, he allowed his 
imagination rather large liberty, but there was 
no intentional deceit. His hearers *who had 
heard repeated versions of a story sometimes 
thought that his stories grew like a tree from 
year to year. His great, faded eyes now be- 
seechingly wandered to the door, and he gave 
a gratified, “ Hem — m — m ! ” when Billy Jones 
entered, and behind him was Tim Shattuck. 
The two lads had visited the post-office in 
search of any mail that might be there. 

‘^Tim, how d’ye do?” said Mrs. Jones. 
“ Sakes, boys ! how it snows ! Stand right 
there and let me brush the snow off from 
you. 


100 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


“ This makes you think of tough nights at 
sea, don’t it, Mr. Bowler? ” asked Tim. 

“ I have seen some awful nights,” remarked 
the old sailor, “and some awful days if I do 
say it. 1 could tell you of strange things.” 

“O Uncle Ben, this is just the night -for a 
story. Do tell us one ! ” pleaded Tim. 

“ Wall ! Take your things off and make 
yourselves comfortable, boys, and praps I 
may think of suthin.” 

At her table covered with a faded green 
cloth, sat Mrs. Jones busy with her sewing. 
Uncle Ben Bowler was in his chair on one side 
of the stove, and on the other, were Tim and 
Billy. 

“Shall I tell you, boys, about the reskoo 
of the drownin’ when the sailboat was upset? ” 

“ Oh, yes, tell us that ! ” cried Tim Shat- 
tuck. 

While the wind roared down the chimney, 
and the flames rushed upward as if to drive it 
back, the ancient salt told his story. 

“ ’Twas one summer, as fine and likely a 
family as you ever see came to Seaton to stay 
a day or two — don’t I wish I could give the 
name ? There was a father, a mother, a young 
chap about sixteen and a little youngster not 
more than six. They were master-hands at 


THE OLD sailor’s STORY. loi 

sailin , or thought they were, and went out 
twice a day, yes, twice a day in my leetle yal- 
ler boat. It was a rowboat you know, but 
fitted up so that you could sail with her if you 
wanted to. A smart, handy thing, too, if I do 
say it. Wall, we’ll call the youngster — Jimmy 
— for I never knew their names-^and the older 
one — er — Fred. The father and mother went 
off with Fred — he was a nice lookin’ big boy — ^ 
but this Jimmy, as I call him, it seems they 
left at home. I told ’em they had better put 
off their cruise, that the wind was skittish and 
the sky looked squally, but then people that 
only see salt water once a year are apt to 
think they know more than those who live 
alongside it all the time. After they had 
gone, I didn’t feel easy, and I started for the 
wharf on the side of the creek opposite the 
old mill, you know, and where the ferry starts. 
I see the leetle chap, Jimmy, a-shootin’ ahead 
of me along the road over the mash and he got 
to the wharf before me. He went there, I 
spose, to meet ’em on their way back, but 
what a time they had, coinin’ back ! I saw it 
a-comin’ over the sea, a-scowlin’ black and a- 
travelin’ fast. It was a great big squall, and 
while the top of the cloud reached up into the 
sky and frowned there, the lower part of it 


102 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


ruffled the sea and turned up a big drive of 
mist and rain. I could see it all, mind ye ! 
My boat was not far from the wharf when that 
ere squall struck her. They ought to have let 
go the sheets and the sails would have jest 
flapped harmless. They didn’t, and the wind 
come, drivin’ along, ravin’ and roarin’, and 
threw that boat over as if it had been a mul- 
lein stalk by the side of the road ! I sprang 
for a boat tied to the wharf and was off in less 
than no time, rowin’ away for dear life. Then 
what did I see on the wharf but that leetle 
Jimmy a-kneelin’ down and liftin’ his white 
face toward that black cloud. ‘ He’s a- 
prayin ! ’ I said to myself, and didn’t I row the 
harder ! Thought I, ‘ When you got an inno- 
cent leetle chap like that on your side, it’s 
worth while to put in.’ The wind bothered 
me and so did the tide, and the rain Come 
slashin’ down. I swung my head round to 
get my bearin’s, and I see that Fred a-doin’ 
wonders. He turned out to be a splendid 
swimmer and a real hero. He caught up his 
mother and helped her grab the boat. Then 
he went to his father and helped him get a 
hold. It was an amazin’ly interestin’ sight, 
that small chap on the wharf a-prayin’ and the 
big boy swimmin’ and helpin’ his parents. I 


THE OLD sailor’s STORY. IO3 

got to ’em and got ’em all ashore, but I had a 
time of it ! I can see ’em now, that chap on 
the wharf a-kneelin’ and his brother out in the 
water savin’ his folks, and the wind all the 
while, how it blew ! ” 

Uncle Ben Bowler had finished his story 
and was patiently waiting for the applause 
sure to follow. During the silence of these 
brief moments of waiting, the wind could be 
heard roaring steadfastly, and if any one had 
faced the windows of the room, he would have 
noticed that the snow gathering on the win- 
dow-ledges and along the lines of the sashes, 
had increased very much. 

A master storm ! ” remarked Mrs. Jones. 

The next moment, a muffled while heavy 
rap on the door was audible, as if a person 
with gloved hands had pounded for admis- 
sion. 

“ Who can that be? ” said Mrs. Jones, start- 
ing up quickly. “ Billy, just take the light to 
the door ! ” 

Billy opened the door, and all heard some- 
body say, “ Tavern about here anywhere?” 

“ Oh, yes ! ” 

“Ask him to come in and warm himself,” 
said Mrs. Jones. 

The stranger entered at once. The snow 


104 LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

clinging to his hair gave him the look of an 
old man, but removing his black felt hat and 
shaking off the snow that whitened his figure, 
it was a youjig man that came forward and 
thankfully accepted the chair offered him. 

“That’s the one!” whispered the old sailor 
to Tim Shattuck. 

“ Not the one in your story? ” 

“The very one, sartin as I’ve got any eyes 
in my head. It is the big boy out in the 
water.” 


CHAPTER IX. 


THE OTHER BOARDER. 

his mother had said on one 
JL occasion, “ by putting off one 
thing, you are always running into another 
thing.” 

“ Oh, mother,” said Tim, in his easy way, 
“ that is only your notion.” 

‘‘ Notions are worth something, young man, 
and you mark my words.” 

Tim did mark his mother’s words, this night 
of the winter storm. Arvie had now been a 
member of the Shattuck household two years. 
She occupied though only the front chamber. 
There was the parlor below still untenanted. 
The family would sometimes joke about 

the other boarder,” and wonder where he 
or she might be. As yet, up to this win- 
ter night, there was no such person in 
existence. 

Tim did not purpose to make so long 
a stay at Bdly Jones’. He had promised 
105 


I06 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILE. 


his mother to return home as promptly as 
possible. 

“ Billy, ril stay to have a little talk with 
uncle,” he said, “ and then go home. Just as 
well to hold on a bit. I will have a little talk 
with Uncle Ben.” 

It was Uncle Ben who concluded he would 
have “ a little talk ” with the young people 
and tell his story. 

“Just as well to stay through,” Tim said, 
“and hear the old man’s story.” 

By putting off one thing, he ran into 
another thing of very special moment. 
Whether for good or ill we shall see. 

The stranger who looked like a big snow- 
flake brought by the storm, had entered the 
Jones-cottage. 

“ I’ll sit down a few minutes, thank you,” 
he then said. At once, he attracted the eyes 
of all. Barkton rarely saw a handsomer 
young man. His black hair had been rum- 
pled by the storm, but this intermeddling only 
gave it a certain grace and picturesqueness. 
His profile was very regular, Grecian in its 
style. His clear coipplexion contrasted 
vividly with the ruddy tinge the wind had 
rubbed into his cheeks. His eyes were a deep 
rich black, full of a pleasant light, that kept 


On 


THE OTHER BOARDER. 


107 


brightening, then dying, in a fashion fascinat- 
ing to any spectator. His voice was agreea- 
ble, full and rich and musical. 

‘‘If I had known,” he said, “ what a' storm 
we were going to have, I would have come 
either sooner or later. It is a bad night and 
I walked over from the railroad station, for I 
couldn’t seem to find any stage.” 

“Too bad!” murmured Mrs. Jones. The 
others one by one assented in their own way, 
for each one seemed to be sorry that this 
handsome young man should be put to any 
inconvenience by the storm. 

“It is a bad night,” remarked Uncle Ben 
Bowler, “but I war jest a-tellin’ ’em of 
another storm that went ahead of this.” 

Then Uncle Ben looked inquisitively at the 
young man as if he would add, “ I want to try 
you, sir, and see if you remember that other 
storm.” 

The stranger was not disconcerted by any 
reference to storms, and in response to Uncle 
Ben’s remark and the look from his faded 
staring eyes, merely said, “ Oh, yes, there 
must be greater storms, of course.” 

He chatted pleasantly awhile and then said, 
“ I think I had better be going to look up that 
tavern. I am rather tired.” 




I 08 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“ I am going that way,” remarked Tim, hav- 
ing concluded finally to make a move, “ and I 
will go with you, if you would like to have 
me.” 

“ Oh, you are very kind, and you are all 
very kind. I am much obliged to you 
all.” 

When he left, Mrs. Jones said, “ How easy 
now ! I should think he had known us 
always. And wasn’t he handsome ! ” 

“ He certainly is very fine looking. Won- 
der what he is round this way for! ” inquired 
Billy. 

Uncle Ben did not make any comment. 
He was surprised to think this young man did 
not remember or did not choose to recall that 
other storm. 

“That is the queerest thing I ever seed!” 
he said a few minutes later in his bedroom. 
“ I’m disgusted.” 

Down the wintry, drifted road, toiled Tim 
and the stranger, battling with the storm. 

“ It seems to me that it grows worse and 
worse,” remarked the stranger, as he held his 
head down and worked his way forward as 
if driving a battering-ram against the storm. 

“You won’t have to go far,” shouted Tim 
to his companion. 


THE OTHER BOARDER. IO9 

“ That is good ! ” was the reply hallooed to 

Tim. 

When they had reached a little hollow in 
the highway protected by a grove of pines on 
either side of the road, Tim’s companion said 
to him, “ You can talk easy here. I wanted 
to ask if the tavern was the only place in the 
neighborhood where you could board } ” 

“ N-n-n-o. Are you going to stay long ? ” 

“ Well, I must stay awhile. I am going to 
have a situation in the office of the canning 
factory.” 

“ Oh, you the new book-keeper ? ” 

“ I suppose so — I engaged for that.” 

“ Well, my mother has a spare room. I 
could speak to her about it.” 

“Thank you; I wish you would. And if 
you’ll tell me where it is. I’ll come round 
to-morrow and see it.” 

“There ! The tavern is just where you see 
those three or four lights burning.” 

“ All right ! Thank you. It is close at 
hand. Thank you. Please speak to your 
mother.” 

When Tim entered the house, his mother 
said, “ Well, Tim, you thought you would be 
home early, but I see you put it off.” 

“ Yes, mother, and you said when I put off 


I lO 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


one thing, I was quite sure to run into some 
other thing, and to-night I guess I run into 
the other boarder.” 

“ You don’t say, Tim ! ” 

“Yes, I do.” 

Tim was correct. In twenty-four hours, 
Will Fairfax, book-keeper at the canning 
factory, was established in the front room so 
long waiting for its occupant. 

The young man was popular at once with 
almost every one. He was liked in the 
counting-room by the superintendent, and 
was also a favorite with the hands in the fac- 
tory. The person that did not like him was 
Uncle Ben Bowler. He was fond of the mys- 
terious and marvellous, and to think that on a 
wild stormy night when an old sailor was tell- 
ing of a hero, that very hero should come to 
his door ! It was an opportunity for the can- 
onization of heroism that could not be dis- 
missed. To the old sailor’s sore chagrin. Will 
Fairfax would not allow that he was the hero. 

“ I have seen you afore, young man,” said 
Uncle Ben, two days after the storm, happen- 
ing to meet him in the road. 

“ Oh — at — your house — the other night ? ” 

“ Why, when I picked you up.” 

“ Picked me up ! ” said Will in surprise. 


THE OTHER BOARDER. 


1 1 1 

“Yes. Ain’t you the young man in that 
boat off the mill-pond at Seaton, below the 
old mill, and I went out to you and picked you 
up? You did a splendid thing! You look 
like that youngster.” 

“ Why no ! ” said the young man laughing. 
“ I never saw that old mill in Seaton, and in fact 
I never was in the town. You are making- 
some mistake.” 

“No, I ain’t!” said the old man stoutly. 
“ Now, you are pertendin’suthin’ what ain’t so.” 

“ Why, I don’t pretend anything at all.” 

Uncle Ben’s head was shaking more persist- 
ently and emphatically than ever. 

“ I know I am right.” 

The young man’s rich peals of laughter 
echoed along the road as he left Uncle Ben 
and continued his walk to the canning factory. 

“The old fool! What is he thinking of?” 
queried Will. “ He has got hold of the wrong 
person.” 

The effect of Uncle Ben’s mistake on Will 
was to interest him in Seaton and the old mill. 

“ I would like to see that mill,” he said. “I 
wonder how it looks.” 

When seen one day under circumstances 
little anticipated at the time of the old sailor’s 
mistake, others than Will viewed it. 


1 12 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

Outside of Will, the result of the incident so 
amusing to him, was to intensify the interest 
of the public in him. The young people 
especially were almost as tenacious as Uncle 
Ben in insisting that Will Fairfax should take 
the role assigned to him as “ hero,” but he 
steadily refused. 

“ Our ‘ other boarder,’ ” said Mrs. Shattuck 
one night to her husband, when they were 
alone with the singing tea-kettle on the stove, 
“ our ‘ other boarder ’ is very popular. What- 
ever comes out of his being here, I shall hold 
Tim responsible. If Tim had come home 
promptly that night as he promised, all would 
have been right, or I hope it is all right now. 
I mean if anything wrong comes from it, Tim 
will be to blame.” 

“ Oh, we will hope for the best,” said her 
husband, who generally looked for the worst 
whatever he hoped. “ How unlike are the 
four young people in our house ! ” 

“I know it, Davis; real unlike. I am 
curious to see how they will all turn out. 
There is this Will. We don’t know anything 
about him excopt what he says of himself, 
that he is an orphan, that he came from 
New York, where he saw Mr. Prentiss’ adver- 
tisement for a book-keeper and answered 


THE OTHER BOARDER. II3 

it. Here we have taken him at his own 
word — ” 

“ And taken him right into our home.” 

“ I know it. Queer what an interest we take 
in the young man ! I don’t believe there is 
anything bad in him, but what I am afraid of 
is lest he hasn’t backbone enough and may 
give way to wrong influences.” 

‘‘You can hardly call Barkton a backbone 
factory, if a young man don’t bring the article 
with him,” said Mr. Shattuck, indulging in a 
bit of pleasantry. 

“I know it. Think of our tavern! That 
won’t help a young man. Well, to go on — how 
will Arvie turn out ? She won’t give way to 
wrong influences. I call her queer and flighty, 
and if she takes a notion, she is like a horse 
that has got the bits in his mouth, and she will 
do just as she pleases. You can’t though, get 
her to do anything she thinks wrong, since she 
has been trying to be religious.” 

“ She goes to church every Sunday, I see.” 

“I know it, and she gets May to go with 
her. Well, I don’t want to stick myself up to 
be better than other people unless I am,” 
remarked Mrs. Shattuck in self-defence. 

Her conscience troubled her oftentimes 
since one of her own household had begun to 
8 


1 14 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

attempt a better life. In self-defence, Mr. 
Shattuck, whose conscience troubled him also, 
said in a subdued tone of voice, “ That is 
where you are right, Sally.” 

“ Then there is our May,” continued Mrs. 
Shattuck. , “ She is a real level-headed girl, 
bright and up to the mark every time. I 
wish Tim was as prompt. A real well-mean- 
ing boy — ” 

“ Yes,” echoed Mr. Shattuck, who did not 
venture to depreciate the worth of his own 
offspring, unless his wife set the example. 

“ Only I wish he wouldn’t go it easy and 
say ‘ time enough ’ so much. He will get his 
fingers nipped in an awful door-crack some 
time, Davis.” 

“ Afraid he will, wife.” 

“ However, Tim is real bright and smart, 
and I wouldn’t let anybody else run him 
down.” 

This, Mr. Shattuck very well understood. 
Without any permission from his wife, he had 
once attempted to rate Tim at his proper 
value, and she emphatically objected. 

For a while, there was silence in the 
kitchen. Husband and wife were busily 
thinking however. Mrs. Shattuck did not say 
it aloud, for it was a conscience-movement 


THE OTHER BOARDER. I15 

she was sometimes aware of since Arvie’s 
changed life. In her soul she was saying, 
“ I feel a responsibility for these four young 
people in the house and wish I had help to 
meet this responsibility.” Mr. Shattuck had 
the same conviction of accountability, and 
though he would not confess it, felt the same 
need of help. 


CHAPTER X. 


THE SNOW-SHOE CLUB. 

T the canning factoiy, people were com- 



Ji\_ ing and going almost continually. One 
day, there appeared a young man whose 
immediate disappearance would have been 
for the welfare of everybody that subse- 
quently and intimately knew him in Barkton. 
He wrote his name, True Winthrop. He had 
black eyes, black hair, and a clear complexion. 
Will Fairfax had these features, but had an 
honest look of kindly wishes for all. In 
True’s eyes were the violence of the storm, 
the shadows of the night, and a certain deceit 
whose expression was this : “ The parents of 
the young man possessing these eyes made a 
great mistake when they named him True. 
He is the very opposite of true. He is the 
untruth embodied. Don’t trust him. He is 
bad as an enemy, but worse as a friend. Don’t 
expect him to say a sincere word or do a 
sincere thing.” 


1 16 


THE SNOW-SHOE CLUB. I17 

At the canning factory, hardly any of the 
young people liked him and yet all disliked 
to differ from him. Something gave him 
a powerful influence. He was a person of 
strong will, abounding in expedients, and by 
a certain force of onset backed up with pro- 
fuse favors for those who agreed with him, 
True Winthrop was quite certain to carry 
whatever he attempted among the young peo- 
ple. 

“ He can’t move me,” declared Mrs. Shat- 
tuck. “ I don’t like that black, evil eye.” 

“ I don’t like him either, but I can’t seem to 
do only as he wants me,” said Arvie. May 
said the same thing, and so did Tim. 

“ He can’t move me,” again declared Mrs. 
Shattuck, compressing her lips and assuming a 
look of firmness and hardness, as if she were 
about to turn into a stone with which to 
confront Winthrop. 

Somehow, the “ other boarder” seemed to 
like him or at least was willing to endure him 
as a companion. Almost at once. True fast- 
ened himself on Will as if instinctively, like 
the leech attaching itself to the human flesh. 
Will was susceptible to flattery. True detected 
this sensitiveness. He sandwiched his speech 
with certain very complimentary allusions to 


Il8 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


Will, told him how handsome he was, that he 
had brains enough and that all he needed was 
money. He was careful to assure him that a 
canning factory, though its aid was extremely 
acceptable to True just now, was not the 
station in life to which True or Will was 
naturally adapted. True hung so close upon 
Will’s heels that there was little room for 
Will’s acquaintance with others, but for some 
reason. True concluded to admit a number 
to a fraction of his own distinguished friend- 
ship. 

One night, after work, when some of the 
young men, including Tim and Will, were 
lingering in the entry of the factory. True 
shouted, “ Boys, come on ; let’s have a 
snow-shoe club ! Of course there is exercise 
but still more fun in it. Take these splendid 
moonlight nights, who wants to be poking in 
a stived up room ! We can just be cutting 
over the fields, you know, taking a run to the 
neighboring towns — and having supper, hot, 
you know — going about, astonishing the folks 
— why, we can go up to the top of Moose 
Mountain easy as not — build a bonfire up 
there! You know we can have a uniform, 
gray or white or red flannel with fancy trim- 
mings, have races and give prizes — ” 


THE SNOW-SHOE CLUB. 


II9 

By this time, True had worked his auditors 
up to such a pitch of enthusiasm that his 
speech was blocked by their loud and increas- 
ing expressions of approval. The idea of a 
uniform tickled the fancy of one. “ Supper ” 
appealed to the greed of another. A third 
clutched at that idea of a prize. Lovers of 
“fun were moved by this appeal to their fa- 
vorite passion. When it was once decided to 
have a club the difficulty was not to find can 
didates for membership, but to shut them out. 
Old men might still prefer to walk, moonlight 
nights, in their boots, but all the youth of 
Barkton longed for snow-shoes. The club was 
speedily organized. True Winthropat his own 
suggestion became president, and Will Fair- 
fax as the result of a like movement by the 
same modest- president, was made secretary. 
Disliking the president and liking the secre- 
tary, Tim was sorry to see this arrangement, 
for he knew that such proximity in official 
places would throw the two into one another’s 
society oftener than would be advantageous 
for Will. 

Mrs. Shattuck had a word to say upon this 
subject. 

“Tim, where does that True — or Untrue I 
should say — -board ? 


20 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


“At the tavern, mother.^’ 

“ I wish he was farther off. I see that Will 
rather takes to True, or True takes to him, 
and I suppose Will is likely to be down there, 
and the tavern is no place for him. Do look 
after Will and exercise the right influence over 
him.” 

“ I will try, mother.” 

When does your Show Club — your — I 
guess that is a good name for it ! ” 

“Snow-Shoe Club, mother. When does it 
have. a run, were you going to ask? To- 
night.” 

“ Tim, I am going to get up a Stay-at-home 
Club. Seems to me you are out every 
night.” 

“ Oh, it is exercise, mother, exercise.” 

“ Well, what are you going to have to-night 
for exercise ? ” 

“ Oh, a run across the fields to Lewisville, — 
to the old stage tavern at the four corners — 
and then on the way’ back, we are going to 
have a trial-race in the Great Meadow.” 

“ Going to the Corners and turn round at 
once and come home?” 

“ Oh, step into the old tavern you know, 
warm up a bit you know, and then come 
back.” 


THE SNOW-SHOE CLUB. 


I2I 


“ Well, see that you warm up at the stove. 
That old tavern has been a real spider-web 
for a lot of silly flies.’' 

“ No flies going to-night.” 

I can name a number. Now you look out 
for Will. He is social, and you have an eye 
out for him.” 

“ Don’t worryj mother.” 

“ I won’t, Tim, if you will do a little worry- 
ing for yourself.” 

Mother, there’s not the least danger. 
You know I hate liquor. I wouldn’t touch it 
for the world.” 

“ I hope not ; but look out, and look out for 
Will. Forewarned is forearmed, they say.” 

It was a splendid night. The moon was one 
round orb of silver, a stainless shield borne 
aloft by the night, and in response to it, 
field and road and house-roof held up their 
snowy surfaces, as if challenging the moon to 
a contest for purity. The air was still. There 
was no cutting blast vexing the traveller that 
might still be in the road. 

The club turned out almost to a man. It 
had been finally settled that the costume of 
the club should be a white flannel suit with 
scarlet trimmings, scarlet caps with a white fez, 
and long scarlet hose. Each racer carried a 


122 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


horn in one hand and a little string of bells in 
the other. Some of the club also carried 
staves. 

“ Ready ! ” shouted the president. “ Peter 
Tombs is our guide to-night. We spurn all 
highways and go in as straight a line as possi- 
ble to the Corners. Away, Mercuries ! Lift 
your wings ! ” 

This classic allusion was not understood by 
the majority of the club. Some supposed it 
meant the mercury in the themometer, and 
that the language was aptly figurative and it 
meant, “ Don’t look at a thermometer, but 
scorning it, away!” As for the wings, Peter 
Tombs did not know that Mercury had wings 
on his feet, and that this language of True was 
a specimen of the elegant learning of the 
“ president.” Peter clapped his hand to his 
shoulder as if expecting to find feathers. He 
did not find anything there but a piece of dirty, 
scarlet braid. He gave a piercing toot with 
his horn, jingled his bells — the grand signal 
for the start — and dashed away, the club fol- 
lowing ! Such a tooting of other horns and 
jingling of other bells ! No Barkton winter 
had ever witnessed such a glorious display. 
The president was proud of his success. 
There was a large group of hurrahing specta- 


THE SNOW-SHOE CLUB. 


123 


tors, for True had invited friends to see the 
club off and also to witness and welcome its 
return. He did not go so far as to say that a 
warm lunch arranged by friends at the tavern, 
its expense met by them also, would be 
exceedingly agreeable to the returning club. 
He left behind though a number of strong 
hints to lie as seed in the fertile minds of 
friends, which seed he hoped by the latter 
part of the evening would thickly sprout and 
blossom and bear fruit, growing into that 
very desirable object, a hot lunch at the 
tavern. 

“ A most successful start ! ” cried True Win- 
throp, then bringing his horn to his mouth 
and winding a sharp peal that must have 
startled the man in the moon if he had had 
any ears besides silver ones. A stunning blast 
from all the club echoed the notes of their 
leader^s horn. 

Jotham Trestle lived in the house next to 
the tavern where the club started. He was a 
fat, red-haired, testy man, and neighbors were 
always obliged to be careful in dealing with 
him. That night, Jotham had the toothache, 
and his temper w^as less prepared than usual to’ 
resist any assaults upon it. Sitting in his 
arm-chair, holding his hand to his face, he 


124 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

caught that loud, ringing blast in the road. 
He jumped up, ran to the window and looked 
out. He could only see those wriggling forms 
out in the road. 

“ The imps ! he exclaimed. “ Wish they 
had my toothache ! They wouldn’t be 
blowin’ horns and troublin’ the neighbors.” 

To his surprise and wrath, the “ imps” 
turned into his yard. The club only obeyed 
orders to follow their guide and spurn all 
roads. This was their first “ spurn.” They 
expected to go in a straight line over to the 
Corners, and if Jotham’s house had been an 
immense bead on that line, they were ready 
to go over the roof. Their route, though, lay 
down his cow yard at the right of the house, 
then through the orchard and so across the 
open fields. Jotham imagined the object of 
their detour in leaving the road, and forget- 
ting that he had a toothache, he rushed to the 
back door and there he stood bawling, Do 
you know that you chaps are a-trespassin’ ? ” 

No notice was taken of this at first, simpl}* 
because a man’s voice has little chance for a 
hearing in the midst of a chorus of twenty 
horns. 

“ I say ! ” Jotham continued to shout. 
Then he added some not very soft epithets 


THE SNOW-SHOE CLUB. 


25 


which hurt when they struck, and by degrees 
the entire club halted. It was an interesting 
scene, that uniformed band in the white moon- 
light, all halting in Jotham’s yard and facing 
this angry fat man out there on the doorstep, 
with his “jumping toothache.” 

“ I want to know if you’re aware that you’re 
trespassin’, making this racket with your horns, 
on other folks’ property?” shouted Jotham. 

“ It is only our Snow-shoe Club exercising,” 
replied True with dignity of language, but his 
tone of voice was angry. 

“ Wall I put your snow-shoes on in your 
own house and make your racket there ; or 
better clap your old shoes over your mouth.” 

True’s reply was to bring his horn to his 
lips and give a loud, deafening toot. Then he 
sprang away, the club following, blowing 
horns and ringing their bells. 

“You Injuns!” shouted Jotham’s tooth- 
ache (for it was this rather than Jotham 
making the reply). “ I’ll be even with you 
yet if I have to set up all night to do it.” 

The' club though heard nothing beside 
their horns. It was now a run down through 
Jotham’s orchard, then across field and pas- 
ture to the Corners. It was not a lengthy 
journey, only three miles, and was carefullv 


126 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

planned, so as to give the members of the 
club a long season of rest after their very, very 
fatiguing exercise. Three miles away, these 
“ winged Mercuries ” in snow and scarlet, be- 
fore the thin string of spectators drawn up on 
the old stage tavern steps to receive them, 
seemed to be lifted above the level of ordinary 
humanity. They came down to it when they 
surrounded the supper tables of the tavern. 
They then showed that they could eat like 
humbler mortals, such as “ Billy Trott,” 
“ Sammy Hyde,” “ Tim Shattuck,” and some 
of them showed that they could drink. Mrs. 
Shattuck had prophesied the latter, and Tim 
knew it might be attempted but did not posi- 
tively anticipate it. The president, though, 
was on hand to show what such organizations 
may exist for, and suddenly proposed over a 
glass of wine the health of the Snow-shoe 
Club. When in a company anybody that is a 
positive character proposes any course in his 
positive way, there are enough weak wills 
present to be attracted to the stronger will 
and yield to it. Some of these weaker ones, 
including Will Fairfax, now lifted glasses 
which had been mysteriously filled from some 
source, and at the same time two bottles of 
wine were started on their travels toward the 


THE SNOW-SHOE CLUB. 


127 


snow-shoes not thus furnished. Tim Shattuck 
did not mean to drink the glass which some- 
body had filled for him. It was his custom 
to delay any action. He grasped the glass as 
if irresolute, though he did not really intend to 
drink. He played with it. He even lifted it. 
A voice was saying to him, “ Set that glass 
down! Others are looking! Will Fairfax 
sees you ! ” 

Will’s glass was near his lips, but Will’s 
black eyes were not on the glass ; they were 
fastened on Tim. What would Tim do If 
he had promptly pushed that glass away. 
Will also would have set his wine on the 
table. Will though saw Tim playing with the 
crimson tempter. He saw Tim lifting it. Tim 
saw Will’s dark eyes still turned towards him. 

“ Set your glass down ! ” cried the warning 
voice again. 

The successes of life hinge on the prompt 
improvement of opportunities. This is true 
of movements affecting our own individual 
future and it has an exemplification in the 
lives of others. The, time to influence Will 
Fairfax and turn him aside from any threat- 
ened course of drinking was that night at the 
Corners, that very hour when undecided he 
held his gla^s in his hands and watched Tim 


128 TOO LATE FOR THE TiDE-MiLL. 

Shattuck. Tim failed to decide promptly and 
improve his opportunity. Will concluded 
that Tim would drink, as the distance between 
Tim’s lips and Tim’s glass steadily lessened. 
In this hour of indecision, a painter would 
have found materials for a vivid sketch. Not 
only Tim and Will were interested in this 
juncture of circumstances, but others watched 
the two. True like a tempter fixed his evil 
eyes on Will and said, “ Drink.” When Will 
lifted his glass still higher and poured down 
the wine, Tim planted his glass on the table. 
The latter had saved himself, but he had lost 
his opportunity to help his neighbor. What 
would others do ? 

There was in the club a positive temperance 
element, and it refused to follow the lead of 
the president. True attributed this to Tim, 
and shot several angry glances toward him. 
The supper closed very unsatisfactorily. 

“ It took you long enough time to decide 
not to take that wine which my courtesy 
provided,” said True to Tim after the supper. 

“ Courtesy will let people decide to refuse 
wine if they wish, and it will not press it or 
any article on the table upon a guest,” said 
Tim. 

“Lot of courtesy about you!” said the 


THE SNOW-SHOE CLUB. 1 29 

president advancing, and raising his hand as if 
he would strike Tim. 

“ I have enough to take care of you if you 
mean any trouble,” said Tim, laughing. He 
was a muscular fellow and quickly could have 
overpowered True. 

“ Oh, come, come, boys! ” exclaimed Peter, 
the guide, “ let’s go off friendly.” 

“ I am all ready,” said Tim, determined he 
would not do anything to provoke trouble. 
“ Let’s start at once ! ” 

Several shouted and blew their horns and 
a few bells jingled out a feeble concert. The 
departure was tame in spirit. The club 
though proceeded to carry out the programme 
of the evening, and led by their guide, moved 
across the open, white fields toward the 
Great Meadow. This was a mile distant 
from the tavern at Barkton, and was a 
splendid race-course for the club. The moon 
poured down its lustre on this wide, white 
field. Each side of the meadow was lined 
with a grove of spruces, as if many spectators 
in emerald had crowded to the edge of this 
broad arena and silently were looking on. 
The prospect of the race revived the sji^^he- 
what lagging interest of the club. The race 
proposed was simply a run from one side of 
9 


130 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

the field to the other, a good quarter of a mile. 
Two warnings were given. 

“ Be a little easy with your shoes,” sug- 
gested the guide. “ Guess they will stand it, 
but—” 

A loud laugh interrupted the speaker. 

“The idea!” said the president. “Going 
to have a race and then advised to do it easy ! 
Our snow-shoes ought to stand the strain.” 

“ Ought ! that is so, but I have seen some 
signs of givin’ out,” replied Peter. 

“And remember, boys, that through the 
Great Meadow runs a piece of an old stone- 
wall,” warned Tim. 

“Well, what if it does?” asked Will in an 
impatient tone. He had never spoken in that 
way to Tim before, but the wine drank was 
working on his temper. 

“ Oh ! people who have lived in the coun- 
try know there may be special danger in an old 
wall perhaps not fully snowed over and yet 
not sticking up enough to be seen.” 

“ Guess we can be on the watch for it,” 
growled True, who wished to hear as little as 
possible from Tim. 

“All right !” said Tim; “go it with your 
eyes open though.” 

The racers were drawn up in line. 


THE SNOW-SHOE CLUB. 13 1 

“At a peal from my horn, go it, boys!” 
cried True. Away they went, striding, glid- 
ing, shouting, pushing ahead. Soon there 
was a collapse of several shoes. They had not 
been honestly manufactured, and now help- 
lessly dangled from the soles of various Mer- 
curies, and two of these ambitiously named 
racers went sprawling in the snow. Tim was 
on a line with the front runners. Suddenly, 
just ahead, he saw protruding from the snow 
several black ridges. 

“ Look out ! ” he shouted, avoiding these 
signs of trouble, even as a bather would heed 
the projecting fins of a shark. Some of the 
racers did not wish to see any occasion of 
trouble. Among these was the president, 
headstrong with wine. But the wine that 
makes a man heady, makes his feet uncertain. 
Away went the president, landing in a heap. 
Will Fairfax followed as ingloriously. 

Others pitched one by one, till the direction 
of that ruined wall was plainly indicated by the 
collapsed forms of those who had tripped over 
it. Angry exclamations and peals of laughter 
also rose along that line of prostrate Mercuries, 
but Tim and half a dozen others kept on, 
announcing their arrival at the goal by a blast 
on their horns. 


132 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“ That old wall ! ” shouted the president. 

These old shoes ! ” cried several. 

‘‘Billy Jones comes out ahead, and Tim 
Shattuck is second,” said Peter, the guide, 
who had been made also umpire. 

And the prizes — they were never heard 
from. It is easy to vote money out of a 
treasury provided money be in it. The club 
had exhausted its finances and the victors 
wisely postponed any consideration of their 
claims. 

The president had desired that the club . 
should make a triumphal appearance at the 
tavern in Barkton. Half-a-dozen of the Mercu- 
ries though were wingless and modestly took 
the nearest road for home. Others lived like 
Tim and Will this side of the tavern, and did 
not care to travel there simply for the privilege 
of walking back again. The president could 
not hold out any positive inducement like “ a 
hot lunch” at the tavern, and if he had been 
able, the temperance young men would not 
have followed him. The drinking at the 
Corners had wounded seriously the interest 
of this element in any protracted celebration. 
One by one, the Mercuries dropped out of the 
line of march, and the president was left to 
himself. Alone, he neared Jotham Trestle’s 


THE SNOW-SHOE CLUB. 1 33 

house. There was a light burning in the 
kitchen. 

“ He is up still,” concluded True, “ but I’ll 
slip quietly through the yard.” 

The toothache man though was prepared 
for any snow-shoer that might trespass on his 
premises. 

“ I have got to sit up with this toothache,” 
declared Jotham, “and I might as well be 
occupied. I’ll leave Towser out in the back 
entry, jest to have him handy.” 

Towser was an immense bull-dog with an 
eye like a dragon’s and teeth like a wolf’s. 

True stole noiselessly round the corner of 
the barn. Did he see that stout wire stretch- 
ing from Jotham’s back door to the barn? 
The wire was sensitive as any nerve in Jo- 
tham’s gums, for the moment that True struck 
it, there was a tumble, and then came a passion- 
ate outcry from the president. 

“ Bow-wow-wow ! ” went the dog whose 
ears caught the sound, and then came the 
voice of Jotham. 

“Towser, stay here! I wouldn’t stay long, 
friend ! ” he shouted to the president. “ I 
wouldn’t stay long looking at the moon, for 
the beast is vicious and I may not be able to 
hold him.” 


134 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

The beast ! growled the president. 
“There are two of them at that door.” 

He went hastily out of the yard, leaving 
Towser still barking, while Jotham told his 
wife asking at the head of the stairs for an 
explanation of the noise, that it was all right 
and his toothache had left him. 

“ It made some noise a-going,” asserted Mrs. 
Trestle. 

The sole surviving member of the club — 
still on snow-shoes — stole to the door of the 
now darkened tavern. The grumbling “ stable 
boy,” prostrate on a settee in the office that he 
might receive any belated callers, arose and let 
a disgusted excursionist in. The moon looked 
down on a white, deserted road, and on white, 
lonely fields everywhere. The expectations 
and disappointments of the evening were soon 
smothered in welcome sleep. An influence 
was left behind though, sure, in the life of Will 
Fairfax at least, to lead to a sad disaster; but 
it might have been different if Tim Shattuck 
had been more prompt in setting down his 
wine-glass. 


CHAPTER XL 


THE DEBATING SOCIETY. ' 

T he months slipped by. Interest in the 
Snow-shoe Club melted away even as the 
flakes of January yield to the suns of April. 
The next thing that True Winthrop proposed 
was a Debating Society. 

‘‘ I am glad of it,” declared Mrs. Shattuck to 
Tim. ‘‘Anything to divert Will and break up 
his interest in that Winthrop.” 

“ Put it the other way. Anything to break 
up True’s interest in Will Fairfax.” 

“ Either way, Tim. I know what folks say, 
that when the Snow-shoe Club met at the 
Corners — you know when — it was True who 
led Will on and asked him to drink.” 

Tim did not care to think very much about 
that club-rally and allowed his mother to con- 
tinue the conversation. 

“ Since then, they say that Will has been 
seen with True Winthrop in places where peo- 
ple go to drink far more than to eat. Wel- 

135 


136 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

come to the Debating Society or anything 
else good, I say. When does it meet? ” 

“ To-morrow night.'’ 

“And where?” 

“ At the school-house.” 

The next evening, about twenty of the 
young people met at the school-house. Each 
one was required to bring a candle, so that the 
room was starred with lights. True Winthrop 
did not wait to be invited to the chair, but 
took it and called the meeting to order. 

“ Of course,” he said, “ ladies and gentlemen, 
I do not mean to usurp the president’s chair, 
for you may wish to elect some one else.” 

After this statement, no one cared to vote 
against True as first officer of the club. As in 
the organization of the Snow-shoe Club, the 
president so worked the case that Will Fairfax 
was made secretary of the new society. 

“We might take up now,” suggested True, 
“the different subjects we wish to discuss. 
Will the society please name some? ” 

There was silence. The members looked at 
one another in perplexity. On the bench that 
was used in school hours for recitation pur- 
poses, sat Tim Shattuck, Arvie Estey and 
May Shattuck. Directly behind these, in one 
of the scholars’ desks, sat Billy Jones. He 


THE DEBATING SOCIETY. 1 37 

leaned forward and whispered to his neighbors, 
“ Let’s take up temperance.” 

‘‘ Oh, I wouldn’t start that yet,” said Tim, 
speaking after his usual style, “ but let’s defer 
it awhile.” 

We need it bad enough,” urged Billy. 

“Yes, but there’s time enough for that. 
Take it up further along,”, replied Tim. 
“There’ll be opposition to it now.” 

“There will be opposition any time, Tim.” 

“ May be, but let’s wait.” 

Billy leaned back in his chair, was silent a 
moment, and then rose. 

“ Mr. President,” said Billy, “ I move that 
we discuss temperance.” 

The perplexity, apathy, silence of the meet- 
ing went at once. The effect of the motion 
was as stimulating as if some one had swept 
out of the school-house with a wave of the 
hand all the candles, and substituted a daz- 
zling electric light. The members of the 
‘ Debating Society ’ with a startled look 
glanced at one another and then faced the 
president. His face too, had undergone a 
change. If fangs had protruded from his 
mouth, his face would have suggested that of 
a snake struck and now turning to sting. 

“ That motion is not seconded,” he hissed. 


138 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

The members saw that their president was 
offended and nobody seemed ready to second 
the motion. 

‘■Nobody seems to care for that subject and 
I think we had better let it alone,” remarked 
the president, the cloud on his face thinning 
out and then yielding to a smile. The society 
experienced a feeling of relief when their head 
patronizingly smiled. One of the younger 
members though was troubled by his con- 
science enough to pipe up in a lisping voice, 
“ Thecond the motion ! ” 

The president’s smile vanished and the 
thunder-cloud was back on his face. There 
was lightning too darting from his eyes. 

“ I would say to the society that this is a 
political question and we don’t want to lug 
politics in here.” 

This seemed to be an awful sin in the view 
of many, and so great was its enormity that 
those guilty beings, Billy and that lisping sup- 
porter, felt their knees shaking. 

The president again looked happy as he 
noticed the effect of his words. “ It don’t 
seem necessary to vote, as the meeting is not 
interested,” said True, “and I won’t ask you 
to hold up your hands.” 

Tim Shattuck sat next to Arvie Estey, at 


THE DEBATING SOCIETY. 1 39 

her left. He felt a stir under his neighbor’s 
shawl. 

“ I believe that girl is going to vote,” 
thought Tim. He rested a hand on the 
uneasy girl and whispered, “ Don’t vote. It 
will make trouble. Put it off till some other 
time.” 

Tim had laid his hand in the wrong place, 
for she was armless there ! Instantly, Arvie 
turned toward Tim a look of triumph and 
up went her only hand, firm and steady ! 
It seemed to Tim as if she even rose from her 
seat that she might thrust her hand as high as 
possible. The effect was instantaneous and 
very damaging to the president’s side. May 
Shattuck raised her hand. Billy Jones took 
courage again, and lifted his. There was a 
general show of hands now, and the president 
looked aghast. 

“ The society is making a mistake,” shouted 
True. 

“ Fifteen of us ! ” cried somebody. 

“ Call for the other side ! ” shouted a second. 

“Order!” roared True. “The presiding 
officer will conduct the meeting.” 

This rebuke was received by the meeting 
with laughter amid which the president called 
for “ the contrary minded.” Only Will Fair- 


1^0 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

fax and two others voted against Billy’s 
motion. Tim Shattuck did not express his 
mind, and for a very effective reason. He 
was in favor of a discussion of the subject and 
could not vote against the motion. He 
wished though to defer the discussion and 
would not vote for the motion, fearful lest 
the discussion might come up at once. The 
president was vigilant. 

“Well,” he said with a sarcastic smile, “the 
motion didn’t say when to discuss temperance, 
and I guess we won’t be in a hurry to intro- 
duce politics.” 

Many at once looked pleased. They did 
not wish to hasten the agitation, fearing like 
Tim it might make a division and hence 
trouble. Having satisfied their co.nsciences 
by voting for the motion, they thought they 
need do nothing further. Suddenly, out rang 
a sharp, clear voice : “ I move we do it at once, 
next meeting, soon as we get here.” 

It was Arvie Estey. 

“ Second the motion,” said another voice 
just as decided. It was May Shattuck. The 
temperance wing led by Billy Jones began to 
applaud. 

“ Silence ! Meeting is getting disorderly ! ” 
thundered the president, lightning darting 


THE DEBATING SOCIETY. I4I 

from both eyes, and fangs threatening to 
come out of his mouth any moment. “She 
didn’t say do what next time ! I think we 
had better do nothing and break up rather 
than to introduce politics.” 

temperance, I mean,” cried Arvie. 
“ Debate temperance at the next meeting.” 

Again there was applauding. The meeting 
now was beyond any fear of the president’s 
opinion, and showed so unmistakably their 
determination to discuss this “ political ” sub- 
ject, and at the very next meeting, that True 
submitted and declared the sense of the meet- 
ing to be in favor of Arvie’s motion. 

“ 1 did think I would resign,” said the presi- 
dent at the close of the meeting, “ rather than 
see the society making a mistake, but — ■” 

Here he tried to smile, for True loved a 
front position and popularity in it and wished 
to have the good opinion of the society while 
president of it. 

“But — I have concluded to — stay and take 
a hand in the debate and show how mistaken 
some of you chaps are.” 

While the society preferred that this great 
officer should remain rather than withdraw in 
anger and damage the organization, the ap- 
plause following this announcement was feeble. 


142 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

The temperance members did not wish to ap- 
prove of the opinion that they were “ mistaken 
chaps.” 

When Mrs. Shattuck’s household had all 
gathered under her roof again, that night, she 
asked May and Arvie about the meeting. 
From a full Well, a speedy stream can 
be pumped, and a long one, and the 
girls responded at once, telling a very full 
story. 

“ Oh, mother, you ought to have seen Arvie 
— if she didn’t make the motions, before them 
all too ! ” exclaimed May, admiringly. 

“ I hardly knew what I was doing when I 
got a-going,” said Arvie, her usually pale 
cheeks flushed with excitement, “ but I meant 
to do something.” 

“Well, what did Tim do?” asked Mrs. 
Shattuck. 

“ Oh, he wanted to put the thing off,” re- 
plied May. 

“ Put it off ! That’s like Tim. Put it on, I 
say. Here are our young people and the 
whole town, I think, needing to take a stand 
on the subject of temperance. It is a real 
good subject. And what did Will Fairfax 
do?” continued Mrs. Shattuck. 

“ Oh, he looked sorrowful, I thought,” re- 


THE DEBATING SOCIETY. 143 

plied Arvie. “ He voted on True Winthrop’s 
side.” 

“ Yes,” said May, “ he sat there as secretary, 
you know, his paper and pencil in hand, and 
he just looked — he stared, you might say with 
his black eyes. He hardly smiled. Some 
laughed and he tried to, but he didn’t succeed 
very well. He did not look easy one bit.” 

Will Fairfax was not easy in his conscience. 
He had made in True Winthrop’s company 
several false steps, and the subject before the 
Debating Society reminded him of his mistakes 
and his danger. He was in a state of great 
perplexity. Before the next meeting of the 
society, a surprise came to him which made 
more interesting his situation. 


CHAPTER XII. 


ANOTHER ARRIVAL. 

<< T T 7HY, Dot! ” exclaimed Will Fairfax, 
V V looking up from his desk at which 
he sat busily examining a day-book. 

The person he addressed was a young 
lady about — it was hard to estimate her age. 
Whether she were thirteen or seventeen, it was 
hard to tell. Her face said, “ I am seven- 
teen.” Her stature said, “ I am thirteen.” 
The general style of her features said that she 
was a Fairfax. While her eyes were blue and 
not black — yet the brows and lashes that were 
black, would give such eyes at night a look 
almost as jet as Will’s. 

She had the air of one who does not know 
whether she has done a wise or unwise thing, 
who- feels that she is not expected and yet 
here she is, just here where her friends are, 
and must be taken care of somehow. 

“ Now, you didn’t expect me, I know. 
Will.” 


144 


ANOTHER ARRIVAL. 


HS 


“ Well — no — I didn’t have the slightest idea 
that you were anywhere in this neighborhood, 
but — I am — glad to see you, Dot.” 

He spoke hesitatingly, for he was making 
up his mind whether he were glad to see her or 
not. On the whole, he was glad, and yet he 
had some misgivings. 

“The truth is. Will, I was driven to come. 
I did not know what else to do — where else to 
go—” 

Though not actually crying, tears gave a 
pathetic lustre to her beautiful eyes, and Will 
Fairfax was the last person in the world to 
resist a woman’s tears. 

“ Oh — oh — don’t worry. Dot. Come in ! 
Don’t stand out there. I am really — glad — to 
see you. Come inside the rail.” 

He opened the diminutive gate in the plain, 
pine railing, and admitted her to that privi- 
leged pen sacred to such personages as the 
superintendent or one of the “ company.” 

“ Besides, it is rainy. Dot. I started a fire 
in the stove. You will need it, maybe, to dry 
you.” 

It was a rainy day, both wet and chilly, 
one of those days in spring when the spirit of 
winter seems to entertain an idea that its 
reign is not over, and it comes back to darken 


lO 


146 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

the shadows under the trees, to chill the 
winds and give them a story to tell of dreary 
Arctic lands and far-off northern seas, to 
look over the small stock of leaves on the trees 
and selecting the little things that have 
begun to die as soon as beginning to live, 
whirl them away as if it were the autumn- 
time. 

Dot held out a very prettily shaped foot to 
the stove, and Will saw at once how wet, 
soaked, mudded it was. 

“ Why, Dot, how did you travel over here.^ 
Pardon me for not asking before. There is no 
stage at this hour. You didn’t walk over here 
from the railroad station ? Now, that wasn’t 
prudent ! ” 

“ Yes, I did,” she said, lifting to Will a pair 
of eyes shaded at first with a sense of foolish- 
ness and shame to think she had done this 
thing. Then up out of their rich, dark depths 
shot a light as of a consciousness of triumph 
to think that one so small and naturally so 
timid had accomplished such a feat. 

‘‘ Yes, I did. Will, for there was nothing but 
tramping that could be done. Yes, and I 
think I know every inch of that road, every 
tree, every field. It is just pressed into my 
memory. I think I could go over that road in 


ANOTHER ARRIVAL. 1 47 

the night and tell where I was. It is a dismal 
road in the rain.” 

There came a time when this same Dot had 
occasion to travel this road in the same man- 
ner, and it was a memorable occasion as we 
shall see. 

“ Look here, Dot ! You must not stay here. 
You will get cold.” 

“ Oh, I had this umbrella.” 

“ Well, now—” 

He stopped and looked out of the window. 

“ It is almost time for me to go — can’t do 
much more to-night — and I’ll take you up to 
my boarding-house, where my landlady, Mrs. 
Shattuck, will make you comfortable. And 
see! If you don’t mind it, we will ride up 
in that express wagon. Dot. That will pro- 
tect you.” 

“ Oh, I don’t care for the wagon.” 

Will rushed to the door of the office, thrust 
his head out into the rain, called, and then 
Dot heard somebody without say, “Whoa, 
there I ” 

“ All right, Jerry I 

He turned to Dot. 

“All ready, little girl.” 

She seemed pleased to hear him use this 
title, though it suggested her slight stature. 


1 48 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

Her eyes flashed out a joyous light, and she 
said blithely, 

“ Here I am, giant ! ” 

The team was a big covered wagon drawn 
by four horses. In the rear part, were several 
empty boxes used for the transportation of 
canned goods. 

“Won’t you ride up on the seat?” asked 
the driver. 

‘‘No, I thank you, Jerry. We will get in 
back there and shall be out of the way. You 
may let us out please at Mrs. Shattuck’s. 
There, Dot,” he added, as he sat down on 
a big, empty box, “we shall be secure 
here. Rain can’t trouble us here, that is 
sure.” 

“ No, Will ; snug here ! ” 

She heard with a sense of satisfaction the 
rain beat on the black roof of the wagon. It 
reminded her that she was within and not with- 
out. It was so much better too in a driving, 
cold spring rain to be travelling on wheels and 
not travelling on foot. Adjusting her voice so 
that Will could hear it and yet it be inaudible 
to the driver, she said, “ But I hav’n’t told you 
why I came.” 

“ No,” he said, a feeling of dread creeping 
over him. He had been trying to imagine 


ANOTHER ARRIVAL. 149 

what she possibly had in mind when she 
started for Barkton. 

“ Well, Will, I lost my place — no fault of 
mine — but my employers have failed and every 
clerk was discharged last night. That left me 
without a place. I had made the payment for 
the stone, you know, and that with my board 
bill took all I had, save just enough to get 
here. Then I said, ‘ now instead of waiting 
here, trying to get something to do and be an 
expense to Will — -for there is my board, you 
know, that will be running up — I will just go 
to Barkton — right off you know, for when 
there is no money, folks must act all the 
quicker, and perhaps where Will is book-keeper, 
I said, I may get a chance to work ’ ” — 

“ In the canning factory ? ” he asked. That 
was all he said in words, but his tone implied 
that he did not care to have this Dot just a 
hand in a canning factory. 

She caught his tone and interpreted that, 
rather than distinctly heard his question. It 
was a disappointment to her. This daring 
and venturesome Dot expected praise as the 
heroine of this story of a cold, cold tramp in 
the rain, and also for her willingness to can 
tomatoes and pickles rather than be an ex- 
pense to Will. Instead of words of commen- 


150 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

dation, she had met with a reception of doubt- 
ful warmth, and now there was this signifi- 
cant inflection of voice that meant every- 
thing where hardly a.nything was said. She 
made no reply. Will was as ready to inter- 
pret her silence as she was to understand his 
tone. He felt sorry that he had not appre- 
ciated Dot’s efforts. As for her payment of a 
certain “ stone ” — he knew what that meant. 
He could seem to see it rising up out of the 
rainy dreariness of a lonely cemetery, the stone 
covering a grave that some people pre- 
ferred to keep unknown because the life had 
been a failure. Will was now thinking 
busily. 

Dot had said with all the force of a woman’s 
consecration, “ The grave shall have its stone, 
if I have to pay for it.” And as for the work, 
ing as a “ hand ” in the canning factory, if it 
did not hurt such girls as May Shattuck and 
Arvie Estey, Will asked himself “would it 
hurt Dot?” It certainly would not hurt the 
canned fruit. How very toothsome would 
be the strawberries that Dot’s tapering little 
fingers might help “ put up ! ” He found him- 
self laughing at the idea, so swift was the 
change of feeling in his mercurial tempera- 
ment. 


ANOTHER ARRIVAL. 151 

“Why, what do you laugh at?” said a 
voice. 

His thoughts came back at once to the jolt- 
ing express-wagon, to the sound of the clatter- 
ing rain on the canvas-roof, and to the slender 
figure whose pressure against his shoulder he 
could feel. 

“ Dot, I was laughing to think how good 
‘ strawberries ’ — say — might taste that my little 
girl canned here in the factory.” 

This brought Dot into the sunshine and she 
laughed also. Her laugh was very rich, like 
the echoing of a silver bell. 

“ Then you will let me go into the canning 
factory, Will, and earn my way?” 

“ Oh, I guess we can fix it. But here is 
Mrs. Shattuck’s, where I board. Jerry, we get 
out here.” 

“ Whoa, there ! ” shouted Jerry. 

The two passengers on a rear-box dis- 
mounted and hastened into the house. 

“ Mrs. Shattuck,” said Will, bringing Dot 
forward into the light of the kerosene lamp 
burning on the table already set for supper, 
“ here is my sister Dorothy, or Dot, as I call 
her. If you will make her comfortable, I shall 
be obliged to you.” 

Mrs. Shattuck eyed with interest this di- 


152 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

minutive young lady standing at Will’s 
side. 

“ I am very glad to see Dorothy — Dot — 
which is it ? ” said the older lady, stammering 
in her embarrassment. 

“ Anything you please ! ” cried Dot and so 
cordially that Mrs. Shattuck felt at home with 
her immediately. 

“ I don’t know where to put her,” Mrs. 
Shattuck was saying to herself, “ but my ! I 
can stand her up in any corner, she is so little. 
Let’s see ! ” 

The result of this landlady’s thinking was 
that Arvie might take her as a compan- 
ion in that big, roomy front chamber, and 
to this arrangement Arvie readily con- 
sented. 

When Mrs. Shattuck went upstairs an hour 
later, she found the two girls chatting before 
an open fire Arvie had kindled on the broad, 
blackened hearth. They were crouching on 
the floor side by side, watching the fire and 
telling stories about the great city with which 
they both were familiar. 

“ Mrs. Shattuck, I am getting along nicely ! ” 
said Dot, rising at once and gathering up the 
long folds of the dress which Arvie had offered 
Dot in place of her wet one. “ I really feel as 


ANOTHER ARRIVAL. 1 53 

if Barkton had a permanent resident. I feel 
quite at home.” 

Dot became a resident of Barkton. For those 
wishing to work in the department of fruits, 
there was no employment at present in the 
factory. Dot went to work, however, in the 
department of the cans themselves, helping 
prepare them for that busy season when the 
factory would sometimes run into the night 
and even through it. By and by, she helped 
fill the cans, and as Will anticipated, it did 
seem as if the preserves which Dot’s fingers 
had touched, were much the sweeter. 


CHAPTER XIII. 


A MEMORABLE DEBATE. 

T here was a crowded school-house at 
the time of the temperance debate. Sev- 
eral well-known acquaintances were there, the 
Flitners, Tom Parlin, Barnabas Locke and 
others. Of course, the Shattucks were pres- 
ent. May Shattuck was there, her sweet, in- 
telligent face brightened with a look of eager 
anticipation. Besides these, were Arvie Estey, 
nervously expectant, and the diminutive Dot, 
with her eyes so full of rich lustre. Uncle 
Ben Bowler, the old sailor, had come for vari- 
ous reasons. He had made the acquaintance 
of True Winthrop, and was about concluding 
that True must be the strange hero in the old 
story. He wished to strengthen his convic- 
tions, and thought that the debate of the 
evening would give him a long and leisurely 
chance to inspect True Winthrop. He had 
also been hired by True to assist in preparing 
a platform for the speakers on this occasion, 

154 


A MEMORABLE DEBATE. 


55 


and he wished very naturally to see that it was 
in readiness. The platform had been built out 
of dry goods boxes, and chanced to be rather 
weak in the centre. The architect and con- 
structor, whom Uncle Ben had assisted, was 
Mr. Shattuck. 

“There, Uncle Ben,” said Mr. Shattuck, 
laying his hand on this extemporized platform, 
“ I think this will stand, but it will be sure to 
stand if it has a prop under it, just there in 
the centre. I have a nice prop, a stout end of 
a joist at home in my shed, and I will let Tim 
bring it down before the meeting and clap it 
under.” 

“That will do,” replied Uncle Ben. “ Solid 
as a rock then.” 

Mr. Shattuck could not be at the school- 
house that evening, but Tim said he would 
take the joist there and see that it was in its 
place. 

“Tim,” said his mother just before tea, “I 
heard your father say something about getting 
a piece of joist out in the shed and then tak- 
ing it to the school-house after supper. Hadn’t 
you better get it now and have it on hand in 
the kitchen ? Then you won’t forget it.” 

“ Oh, mother, I will look after it.” Tim 
spoke rather impatiently. He had agreed to 


156 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

say something on the temperance-side of the 
debate, but as usual he deferred preparation 
until the eleventh hour, and now at the 
eleventh hour he was nervously collecting 
materials for a “ speech.” The more he strove 
to collect, the smaller his collection seemed to 
be. Still hoping that something satisfactory 
might come to him, he started after supper for 
the school-house, but he went without that 
“prop.” His thoughts were no more upon it 
than upon the pines of Moose Mountain. 
When he arrived at the school-house, as few 
people had gathered, he left it thinking that 
solitude and the cool night air might be favor- 
able for forensic preparation. After he had 
gone. Uncle Ben arrived. 

“ Tim Shattuck been here?” he asked a boy 
whom he found in a front seat. 

“ Yes, sir, and he’s gone again.” 

“Ah,” concluded Uncle Ben, “then Tim 
has looked after things and it is all right.” 

Instead, it was all wrong. Tim’s s]3eech, 
while out doors, would not easily come to him. 
There was a young moon in the sky. This 
sometimes supplies fancies to poets, but its 
presence was very distracting to-night. 

“Oh, you moon,” he said impatiently, 
‘^what are you up there for? Why don’t you 


A MEMORABLE DEBATE. 1 57 

help me ? What are you looking down on me 
for?” 

Just then a seemingly lucky thought came 
to him. 

“ What is the moon looking down upon ? ” 
he reflected. “ Imagine the moon looking 
down upon — a temperance landscape — oh, 
good ! I’ve got it ! I’ve got it ! ” 

Here he made an impressive gesture with 
his right hand, pointing at an adjoining farm- 
house belonging to a well-known temperance 
man. 

“ There is that thrifty home, the abode of 
temperance, and there — ” 

The building next to the school-house was 
the canning factory. 

“ I’ll skip that, but I might well put it in, 
for temperance makes the canning business 
good. Let me see ! ‘ Behold those fields cov- 

ered with thriving crops — and they will be — 
this is the work of temperance ! The old 
church on the green, white in the moonlight, 
that is temperance.’ Why, I can go on that 
way, and get a lot of things to speak for tem- 
perance, well-filled barns, stores with happy 
tradesmen in them, shops where people are 
well employed — yes. I’ve got it! Then on 
the other hand, to show intemperance, I can 


158 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

say, * Behold homes where the windows are 
stuffed with rags, and barns where the cattle 
have been sold, and stores that have no goods 
to sell, and — soon/ Yes, I’ve got it! That 
is a great deal better than to fuss a day or two 
over what you have to say. Nothing like a 
sudden inspiration, as they say ! It is mine, 
mine ! ” 

He went back to the school-house in an en- 
tirely satisfied frame of mind, and when his 
mother turned her anxious face toward him, 
he returned the look with the greatest com- 
posure. 

Tim has got something,” thought Mrs. 
Shattuck. “ I can tell what every look means.” 

The meeting was opened by the president 
in due form. He made a very imposing ap- 
pearance. His fine figure was arrayed in a 
new and stylish suit of broadcloth. He wore 
a white vest, and a bouquet bloomed out of 
one of his button-holes. People smiled and 
yet were pleased to see a young man of their 
town giving such a fine figure-head to the 
society. 

“Guess,” said Uncle Ben to a neighbor, 
“ they don’t do things up in style like Bark- 
ton, anywhere round here. Got a nice plat- 
form, too, havn’t we ? ” 


A MEMORABLE DEBATE. 159 

“Yes,’* said his neighbor. 

The first person to open the discussion was 
Billy Jones, and he took the affirmative side, 
showing that total abstinence was the proper 
course to pursue, that the use of an intoxicat- 
ing beverage was likely to pass beyond the 
control of the user, that to abstain entirely 
was the safer way. He then showed as facts 
the evil influences of the liquor-habit in 
society, that in the sphere of money and 
morals, liquor-drinking was destructive. He 
showed how dose the connection was between 
the rum-shop on the one hand, and the idiot 
asylum, insane asylum, prison and poor-house 
on the other hand. It was a simple, sensible 
statement and the great body of his auditors 
showed that they were on Billy’s side. Billy 
preferred to speak from the floor, but the 
president took a series of consequential strides 
toward the platform, and stepped upon it 
fearlessly, at the same time favoring the 
audience with a patronizing bow. The 
moment he occupied the platform, Tim saw 
its floor sway, and in alarm he said to himself, 
“Oh, that joist — I forgot! my I What if it 
should give way ! ” 

The platform seemed though to give no 
sign of immediate collapse, and the president 


l6o TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

walked it with impunity. Tim’s thoughts 
returned therefore to that pretty new moon 
which he expected would render him important 
service in his oration. True had practised his 
speech carefully before a looking glass. 
Everything was duly arranged. His thoughts 
were packed away as neatly as arrows in a 
quiver. There was some friction though at 
the start. 

“ Mr. President,” he began to say. Then 
he remembered that the person presiding was 
Will Fairfax, the secretary, who had been 
called for a few minutes to the chair. 

“ Mr. Secre ” 

He stopped and began again — 

“ Mr. Chairman ! ” 

The people now were smiling, and instead 
of the title “ Ladies and Gentlemen ” which 
he had designed for them, he came abruptly 
down in his confusion to “ Feller-Citizens.” 

However, he did not betray any outward 
embarrassment, and his audience were pleased 
to see how gracefully and promptly he went 
from point to point. It was a plea for and 
justification of moderation in drinking. Billy 
Jones though had covered all his points, giv- 
ing one answer which I have not mentioned. 
Said Billy, in his every-day way, “The man 



(Page /6/J 




r r 





1 








r ^ • 



> 


• . ♦ 
• • 











” 

f 

• ' 

' ^ ' f~, 1 




« »> 





< 


J 


% 

> 

• > 




— • 


( 


r 




I 


^ 


j 



% 


• • 



^ ji". » » 

^1 

t 




1 






A MEMORABLE DEBATE. l6l 

who drinks a little, by his example is helping 
another man drink a good deal.” 

The platform still held, and held so well, 
though bending and swaying, that Tim forgot 
how insecure it really was. Platforms will 
stand all that can reasonably be expected of 
them, but there is a point beyond which even 
a platform will rebel. True had so enlisted 
the attention of the audience that he was 
stimulated to do his very best. He had 
thought of two ways in which to close, and 
concluded he would take the more impas- 
sioned. He had been claiming his rights as a 
freeman to drink or not. 

“ Here I take my stand,” he shouted, “on 
this platform of private rights ” — True stamp- 
ing and the platform quivering frightfully — 
“ and here I float my banner ” — rushing about 
as if to grasp and wave an imaginary flag, the 
platform badly swaying — “ and if defeated, we 
will go down” — he almost jumped upon the 
platform — “ down — togeth — er.” 

He finished the sentence in the midst of 
a crashing collapse, for the platform had 
accepted what sounded like a challenge, and 
brought down True and his flag. The people 
roared with laughter, and what added to the 
confusion was the attempt of a boy in the rear 


i 62 too late for the tide-mill. 

V 

of the school room to perform the part as- 
signed him by True. 

“ I shall say something about a flag, — I 
don’t know now just what — but you will hear 
me speak about a flag,” True had said to him 
in private. “You take these flowers — I have 
bunched them up — and start down the aisle : 
and throw the bouquet at me. Do it as I say, 
but don’t tell anybody I asked you, and here 
is some money for you.” 

The boy was faithful. When that perora- 
tion about the flag began, the flower-bearer 
advanced. He stepped down the aisle 
and threw his testimonial. It. arrived as 
True was tumbling, and hit him on the 
nose ! 

The audience was again roaring. Will and 
two or three others rushed forward to help 
True up, but he was nimble and was at once 
on his feet again. 

“ Oh, mother ! ” said May afterwards, “ did 
you see the snakes and sparks rush out of 
True Winthrop’s eyes?” 

“No, May, for I saw something going into 
them, all that handful of flowers Lemuel 
Adams’ boy brought up.” 

At first. True was very wrathy, but some 
one called out, “ Three cheers for the orator,” 


A MEMORABLE DEBATE. 163 

and this tribute from the public restored his 
temper to its equilibrium. He tried to smile, 
and cried, “ my flag still waves ! " 

The audience clapped this effort to take 
the accident with equanimity, and True now 
bowed very profoundly. It was the next 
orator’s turn to try his luck, and this next 
orator quickly drew the attention of every- 
body to himself. 

“ Oh dear. May ! ” whispered Mrs. Shattuck, 
“ there goes Tim ! I wonder if he is pre- 
pared ! ” 

“ He looks triumphant, mother!” 

He did look triumphant. At the time, the 
rupture of the platform disconcerted him, for 
as True went down, Tim in his excitement 
actually rose up. True’s skilful extrication of 
him'self from all embarrassment, and the good 
humor of the audience, had put Timothy 
Shattuck at ease once more and he stood up 
to address the crowd, his face beaming. 
Though he had not been thinking of his 
speech, he was not at all worried. He did not 
believe in woriying. As for his speech, it was 
only an easy matter about the moon shining 
down, and a thrifty farm, and a canning fac- 
tory, and so on, and so on. It was all right. 
Everything was ready. “ Sudden inspiration ” 


164 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

would carry him far beyond the success of all 
• those orators who distress themselves with 
their preparations day after day. Tim turned 
his “ beaming face toward the crowd, only to 
see faces, faces, faces, on every side, a big 
heap of them, all turned toward him, all smil- 
ing, all waiting to hear — what ? In that mo- 
ment, every thought that Tim ever had or 
hoped to have, seemed to leave him ! His 
head was as empty as a scooped out pumpkin. 
What he was there for, he could not possibly 
say. Everything had gone from his head, and 
there was left on his face a most vacant smile. 
The people smiled in return. Then they gig- 
gled ; Tim giggled. He tried to think what 
he was there for. He could not seem to rake 
out of his brain the smallest idea of his mission, 
whether it might be temperance, kindness to 
animals, or Mormonism. The situation now 
had become very embarrassing. Tim was ready 
to clutch at anything that would give him the 
least possible help. Suddenly, looking out of 
a window near him, he chanced to see the 
young moon peacefully curving its scimitar of 
silver in the sky. 

“All right now ! ” thought Tim. 

“Behold that moon ! ” he shouted, and with 
his right arm gave a frantic lunge at the win 


A MEMORABLE DEBATE. 165 

dow. People ceased to laugh and looked at 
the window. 

What next ! ” thought Tim. He could 
only think of one thing, on all the earth, under 
all the sky, just this one thing which he now 
shouted, “ And that canning factory ! ” lung- 
ing at another window. Every other idea for- 
sook Tim as hopelessly as trade quits the man 
that has one day nothing to sell. People were 
now laughing again. Tim tried to laugh for 
he had nothing else to do. His head began to 
swim. He grasped at a bench near him and — 
sat down ingloriously. The temperance cause 
seemed now in a sorry state. People were 
laughing and talking. True looked happy. 
He reached out his hand to Will Fairfax and 
Will shook it. 

“Perhaps, we had better adjourn,” called 
out the president. He saw, though, three 
very earnest faces in the audience, the faces of 
girls, and one of them, Arvie Estey, was rising 
as if to come and speak to him. 

“Oh!” said True. “Some of our friends 
wish to sing a song, they told me.” 

The audience received the announcement 
of the singing with pleasure. Tim looked re- 
lieved. He was ready to welcome anything, 
an earthquake, a tornado, a flood, and the 


l66 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

sooner and the bigger, the better. Arvie, May 
and Dot came forward to an old melodeon 
used in the exercises of the school. They had 
made thorough preparation for this song, keep- 
ing it a secret from everybody save the presi- 
dent, to whom they had communicated their 
wish. Dot carried the air, Arvie the tenor, 
and May the alto. Borrowing the key of the 
school-house they had stolen into the old build- 
ing, and around the melodeon had sung this 
declaration of temperance sentiment. They 
were now about to reap the result of a careful 
preparation. Dot sat down to the instrument, 
and her companions stood at her side. The 
name of the song was “ My Right.” The idea 
was this, that we have no right in our words 
or deeds, to attempt anything that will in any 
way interfere with the welfare of another, and 
what an interference with the peace and pros- 
perity of society is the habit of the liquor 
drinker! The chorus ran thus: 

“ You talk of right. 

You talk of right, my brother, 

You have no right to say or do, 

Whate’er may harm another.” 

This last stanza was sung triumphantly by the 
trio : 


A MEMORABLE DEBATE. 


167 


“ God speed the day when round the world, 

All men shall be as brothers, 

The Golden Rule their daily guide. 

Their aim to live for others.” 

The song was a complete answer to True Win- 
throp’s rhetorical flourish of a flag of Rights. 
It was a surprise to him. He had said to 
himself, 

“Those girls want to sing about something 
or other — I don’t know what — moon, I guess, 
or sunsets.” 

As their singing proceeded, his countenance 
darkened. Every verse was a push against 
him, forcing him into a smaller and smaller 
corner, and the president felt at last that he 
was effectually pinned and was made a mark 
for the criticism of others. 

In no good humor, he abruptly closed the 
meeting, not allowing it, as generally done, an 
opportunity to express its opinion upon the 
merits of the discussion or the subject. The 
temperance people though did not care. They 
were enthusiastic in their approbation. When 
True in disgust had retired, taking Will Fair- 
fax with him, others remained, and gathering 
about the singers, asked them to repeat the 
piece. The music was easily learned, and 


1 68 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

soon the audience was repeating the chorus 
enthusiastically : 

“ You talk of right, 

You talk of right, my brother, 

You have no right to say or do, 

Whate’er may harm another.” 

The influence of the meeting outlived that 
evening. It was felt all through the town and 
gave important aid to a movement that effect- 
ually closed all drinking places. The three 
girls who had so powerfully helped in the vic- 
tory of the evening, went home together. 
They were chatting blithely when Dot ex- 
claimed, “ There ! ” and stopped in the road. 

“ What is it, Dot?” asked May. 

“ I forgot about Will, May.” 

“ I should think he might take care of him- 
self.” 

“ But I don’t like that True Winthrop, and 
I am afraid Will has got into his clutches.” 

“ None of us like him,” said Arvie. 
Something like a sigh escaped from Dot, 
and then she moved on. 

“You going to sit up forever ?” Arvie said 
to her room-mate when they were at home. 
Arvie noticed that Dot seemed to be in no 
mood for retiring. 


A MEMORABLE DEBATE. 


169 


“ I must sit up awhile.” 

Her companion fell asleep, but Dot sat 
alone in the dark. She carefully listened to 
every sound about the house. She heard Mr. 
Shattuck as he came to the front door and 
locked it, supposing that everybody was in. 
She caught the sound of the wind as it teased 
and stirred the trees before the house. A 
wagon went slowly by, the clatter of. its wheels 
harshly grating on the ear. Then Dot caught 
the sound of irregular, uncertain steps down 
in the graveled walk leading to the front door. 
She stole softly out of the room, went down- 
stairs on tiptoe, and opened the front door. 
Some one was sitting on the stone step. Dot 
bent down to him, laid her hand on his shoul- 
der, and whispered, “ Will ! ” 

“Oh, you there, Dot?” he answered. 
“Well, I’ll think — about it — about coming in, 
you know.” 

His tones were thick, not that clear, distinct, 
melodious articulation which people generally 
noticed in the voice of Will Fairfax. 

“ Will, you must come in now.” She spoke 
imperatively and he obeyed. 

“ Oh, little gal, you — you are hard on a 
feller.” 

This way, Will,” said Dot, steadying him 


I/O TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-xMILL. 

through the entry into his room, and leaving 
him on his bed. Then she closed the front 
door and went upstairs to kneel by the win- 
dow and bow her hot, throbbing forehead 
against the cool panes. Her brother had 
come home intoxicated, and knowing the 
family sin, she was bowed all the lower by the 
knowledge of his shame. 

Will and Dorothy Fairfax were the only 
children of Charles Fairfax. When their 
mother died, she left to her husband as a 
sacred legacy the possession and care of these 
two children. They were in age only a year 
apart. Will was now eighteen and Dot seven- 
teen. Charles Fairfax had once been a man 
of fortune. The passion for drink had been a 
fire consuming health, property and his good 
name. The last two years of his life. Will had 
been kept at school by a relative now dead, 
and consequently had seen little of his father’s 
sin and disgrace. Dot knew about it, and 
alone tried to meet and resist the awful fire 
burning up her father’s hopes and resources. 
It was she who to the last clung to her father, 
and when he was dead she persisted in toiling 
heroically that a stone might mark the grave 
to which the life of Charles Fairfax could not 
bring honor. 


A MEMORABLE DEBATE. I/l 

She was a stronger character than her brother 
Will. Apparently she was weaker. She was 
slight in stature. Her face had a look that 
seemed a petition for sympathy. She under- 
stood Will better than he understood Dot. 
She appreciated the fact that it was agreeable 
to his pride if she seemed to lean on him, and 
then it kept up in her thoughts the old tradi- 
tional idea of a brother’s protection, which in 
this case was mostly a fiction and yet agreeable 
to her who had found the world more ready to 
refuse than to give shelter. In reality, the 
sister was the stronger, and the brother leaned 
on the strength that he flattered himself he 
was upholding. When Will went to Barkton, 
Dot was pleased with his course, but subse- 
quently she was alarmed. A friend of the 
family chanced to visit Barkton on business, 
and Dot commissioned him to learn of Will’s 
circumstances and ascertain his success. Dot 
was glad to hear of the popularity in Bark- 
ton that Will enjoyed, and yet when this 
friend mentioned the meeting with one 
True Winthrop in Will’s company, she 
was startled at the sound of that name 
though she could not recall any reason for 
alarm. 

“True Winthrop!” she said to herself. 


;I72 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“ Where have I met such a man ? Oh, I have 
it now.” 

She asked for a description of True, and she 
received it, 

‘‘'That,” she thought, “ is not unlike the 
looks of the man I have in mind.” 

Dot had reference to a fact which showed 
how much she would venture to do for her 
father. When the depths of his shame seemed 
to be sinking lower and lower, one wild, stormy 
night, veiling her face, she went to a bar-room 
that he frequented, and with the bartender, 
pleaded that he would not sell her father liq- 
uor. He dismissed her plea with some slight- 
ing remark, and how she wished she could have 
easily dismisjsed from her mind the recollection 
of his features. Again and again, she saw the 
evil sneer flashing out of his eyes. This re- 
ception that was given to her plea, was all the 
stranger because the bartender was so young, 
and one would not associate with his years 
any hardened persistence in wrong. When 
she was turning away from the bar, some one 
addressed the bartender, and what was the 
name he used? 

“ It seems to me that the name was True 
Winthrop,” Dot said to herself when that 
friend, commissioned to see Will at Barkton, 


A MEMORABLE DEBATE. 1 73 

had brought with him the name of Will’s most 
trusted acquaintance. 

The bartender though wore a mustache 
and thin, black whiskers ; neither was worn by 
the “True Winthrop ” at Barkton. She could 
not free herself from the suspicion in spite 
of this difference, that the two young men 
might be the same person. She longed for an 
opportunity to go to Barkton and learn for 
herself if her fears were grounded in facts. 
When thrown out of employment, she came at 
once to Barkton, though Will Fairfax little 
suspected the real reason of her coming. 
When she saw True Winthrop, she said, “ He 
looks something like the bartender,” and yet 
this smooth-faced young fellow, at work on in- 
nocent cans in the factory, did not fully resem- 
ble that peddler of poisons amid the glass-ware 
of the showy bar. Suspicions that here was an 
old enemy, would cling to her, but she could 
prove nothing. 

“ We don’t like each other any way,” con- 
cluded Dot, and this opinion was correct. 

The night of the debate all doubt of True’s 
personality vanished. 

“ Why didn’t I think of it before?” she said 
to herself as she watched him during the de- 
bates. “ That bartender, like True, wore a 


1/4 TOO J^ATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

white vest, and he had on a black coat, and he 
had a bouquet in his button-hole.” 

Yes, when bespoke and made certain ges- 
tures, she saw again the youthful bartender 
pouring liquor from one glass into another, 
and then, in a sneer on the speaker’s face, she 
saw the same contempt with which her prayer 
in behalf of her father had been recklessly dis- 
missed. 

“ No doubt of it,” said Dot. Before she 
reached Mrs. Shattuck’s the night of the 
debate, she had met one of the young people 
of the neighborhood who spoke of True and 
Will as seen entering the tavern together. 

When she admitted Will to the house and 
saw that he was intoxicated, she knew that 
True had exerted for ill his influence over Will, 
and it seemed to Dot as if her prayer had once 
more been refused by True, and in the person 
of his son, the father had again been poisened 
by that young liquor vender. What a black 
night that was when Dot still lingered at the 
window, bowing her head against the panes! 
The misty clouds seemed to have quenched 
the light of the stars. A hoarse wind mur- 
mured its threats of storm. Dot thought of 
Arvie who had knelt at the bed-side before 
she retired. 


A MEMORABLE DEBATE. 175 

“ I wish I could pray,” said the girl softly, 
the convulsive sobs choking her voice. Her 
soul seemed as lonely as the summit of Bark- 
ton’s big mountain, around which the storm- 
clouds were rushing, gathering forces that 
would be big enough to sweep the valleys and 
drench them with the clattering rain. 
Already, the storm seemed to have descended 
and to be raging through the soul of the 
watcher. Sometime before the morning, worn 
out, exhausted, she crept to her bed and sank 
into a vexed, uneasy sleep. 


CHAPTER XIV. 


CORNER WORK. 

TRIM, white sweeping-cap framing her 



pretty face, a broom in her hands. May 
Shattuck was vigorously stirring the dust out of 
the carpet of the room that the family used as 
parlor and a sitting apartment also. 

“ Here is one of your corners, mother, and I 
suppose you want that cleaned out thor- 
oughly.” 

“You suppose. May? You ought to know 
by this time. I don’t have any faith in people 
who at every chance slight corners and only 
sweep where it can be seen. I approve of 
putting your broom into the little as well 
as big places, and cleaning them out thor- 
oughly.” 

“ Pay attention to your corner, that is your 
motto then, mother.” 

“ That is my motto. Our corner in life may 
be small, but we can do our duty in it.” 

May’s broom came to a rest. “ My corner. 


176 


CORNER WORK. 1 77 

mother, does seem small ; just a bench in a 
canning factory.” 

“ Might be smaller, daughter.” 

“ Well, mother guess what we girls are 
thinking of ? ” 

“ What girls ? ” 

“ Dot, and Arvie, and the sweeper? ” 

“ I couldn’t say.” 

“We want to make our corner bigger. We 
are not contented to do what we are doing. 
Now you may laugh, but I would like to be a 
teacher.” 

May eyed her mother sharply. She knew 
how very practical Mrs. Shattuck was, and 
thought she might classify these dreams 
as visionary. Mrs. Shattuck though had 
exalted ideas of her daughter’s capabili- 
ties, and was ready to endorse May’s pro- 
jects. 

“ I have thought the same thing. Don’t 
you remember. May, when you were a little 
girl, how you used to get the tots of the 
neighborhood together and teach them ? Play- 
ing school, you called it.” 

“ Havn’t you forgotten that, mother ? ” re- 
plied May eagerly, her cheeks flushed with a 
pleasurable excitement. 

“ Oh no. I have often thought you would 


12 


lyS TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

make a good teacher, but the way has never 
seemed to open.’' 

“ Perhaps it is opening now.” 

“ How?” 

“ Well, we girls have been talking it over. 
Dot thinks she would like to make a teacher, 
and so would I, and Arvie thinks if she could 
write a nice hand, and understood book-keep- 
ing and was quick at figures, she could get her 
living as a book-keeper, in some counting-room 
you know.” 

“ But that don’t answer my question ‘ how.’ ” 

“ No, that is true. The thing is the way to 
do it. I will tell you what I thought of.” 

While May eagerly detailed her plans, Mrs. 
Shattuck carefully, sympathetically listened. 
When no longer young, when budding-time in 
our garden of hope is past, it is our privilege 
to listen to the plans of those still young and 
help develop them. Who can say ? It may 
be, that larger will be the result when we 
advance the plans of another than if we had 
moved forward our own. Did that sagacious 
mother, Mrs. Shattuck, have any such idea ? 
May continued : 

“You know, mother, that Mr. Eastburn is 
teaching our school, this winter — James East- 
burn. Tim says he is a brother of the Mr. 


CORNER WORK. 


179 


Eastburn he used to go to school to. Tom 
Parliii and Dave Flitner were among his boys. 
Now we girls have an idea that our Mr. East- 
burn would keep an evening school — we 
would pay him you know — and that would 
give us girls a chance to start anew in our 
studies. Don’t you see.?” 

“ I do, and I think it would be an excellent 
plan.” 

“ Oh thank you, mother, and you speak to 
father?” 

“You do it. Folks like to have a thing 
come to them first hand.” 

“ I will, I will.” 

“ Now I want to ask you about one of those 
girls who want to enlarge the corner they are 
in. I want to ask you about Dot. You know 
when you had that debate on temperance in 
the school-house, how worried she was about 
Will?” 

“Yes, mother.” . 

“You know she talked with Will and he 
said he would try to do better? ” 

“ I know it.” 

“ Do you think there has been any trouble 
since? It was bad enough then.” 

“ I can’t say how it is. That Dot ! You 
would think she was like a branch of willow 


l8o TOO LATE fok THE TlDE-MILL. 


that will bend any way you please, but I 
guess Will Fairfax has found there is a lot 
of oak in her. Why, mother, she is a little 
giantess, and if she does carry out her plans, 
she will make a stir.” 

The plans of all three of these young ladies 
were carried out as far as the evening school 
went. Mr, James Eastburn was induced to 
open the school and there was an encouraging 
attendance. Dot and May studied that they 
might one day be teachers, and Arvie tried to 
perfect herself in penmanship and accounts. 
True Winthrop sneered at the school as a 
woman’s movement, and Will Fairfax did not 
have independence enough to differ. Billy 
Jones felt his deficiencies so much that he 
entered the school. Tim Shattuck — was in a 
quandary. His mother questioned him on the 
subject of the school. 

“Tim, why don’t you go to Mr. Eastburn’s 
school?” 

“ Oh mother, I don’t know. I have been 
thinking on the subject.” 

“ It is a good opportunity to go farther in 
your studies. Chances like this in Barkton 
don’t come every day.” 

“ I know it, but I guess they will come some 
other day. Time enough.” 


CORNER WORK. 


l8l 

“ Tim, have you really, seriously thought 
what you are going to do in life? Just now, 
you are in a canning factory, putting up 
vegetables and fruits, but you don’t expect to 
follow it for a living. It is good enough as far 
as it goes, though I would do better if. I 
could.” 

“Have I thought, mother? Can’t help 
thinking where an enterprising woman like you 
is around. Yes, I have thought a good deal. 
Sometime, I think I would like a trade or to 
be in business or to farm — no, I don’t just like 
that. Canning is a trade, mother, and I can 
stick to that.” 

“ But if you can do better, you want to, 
don’t you ? ” 

“Yes, I think I would like to.” 

“ Well, Tim, there is nothing like education. 
Your father and mother wish they had more of 
it, and I would improve every chance. That’s 
my idea.” 

“Good idea, good idea, but still I don’t 
want to make a big fuss over it.” 

“Fuss ? We must do something. Boats that 
drift with the current, will get carried out to 
sea. If you don’t look out, you will find your 
opportunities going behind you, and you can’t 
pick them up again. Now I would go to this 


i 82 too late for the tide-mill. 

evening school. That will be something in it- 
self and may suggest something else by-and- 
by.” 

“ Oh mother, you do so drive folks,” replied 
Tim in his easy way. ‘‘ I dont want to fret. 
It will come out right, by-and-by. Time 
enough ! ” 

As if sorry he had not promised to heed his 
mother’s advice, he called out when she was 
passing from the kitchen where this conversa- 
tion had taken place, “ I will think about what 
you say, mother.” 

He did think, and kept thinking, thinking, 
thinking, and the young man who did it, failed 
to remember that one might “ keep thinking ” 
and yet be a “do nothing.” In other words, 
there might be such a thing as being “ too late 
for the tide-mill.” 


CHAPTER XV. 


A SERIOUS CRISIS. 

E dward EASTBURN’S scholars re- 
membered that with his instructions went 
a very positive religious influence. The same 
feature marked the school taught by his broth- 
er, James. In other things, the two were 
indeed two. Edward was slight ; James had a 
fine figure and in his .very personnel made a 
deep impression on a school. Edward’s eyes 
were of a dark blue ; James’ were hazel, spark- 
ling with a vivid light, and his black hair, a jet 
black, curled in many little folds.^ He was 
reputed to be “ the handsomest man that ever 
taught our school.” His brother Edward, at 
the very start, was obliged to prove that he 
was master, and prove it he did. There was 
not the least questioning of James’ authority. 

“ He was master the moment he crossed the 
threshold,” declared Uncle Ben Bowler, “and 
the scholars all knowed it.” 

James Eastburn was still a student in 

183 


1 84 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

college, fighting his way against board bills and 
tuition bills, and a chance to teach gave him 
very acceptable ammunition in that fight 
which poor students must make. The evening 
school was welcomed as another opportunity to 
strengthen himself pecuniarily. The same 
direct spiritual influence that made an atmos- 
phere in his day-school, affecting the thoughts 
and life of his pupils, was felt also by those 
who came to him in the evening. 

The rector of St. Mary’s, Barkton, at that 
time the Rev. Charles Ellis, heard about the 
spiritual aspect of Mr. Eastburn’s work. Mr. 
Ellis knew that the inhabitants of this school- 
district were not very successful in conquering 
the long walk between their homes and the 
church, and he said, “ The church shall go to 
them. I will have services in the school-house 
some of the nights when no evening school is 
there.” 

He accordingly made an appointment for 
services at the school-house. Mr. Eastburn’s 
influence upon the school, exerted in his quiet 
way, was like that of the warm spring rain 
upon the frozen soil, making it ready for the 
farmer’s plow. 

“ I’ll put in the plow the very first meeting 
we have,” Mr. Ellis said to one of his wardens 


A SERIOUS CRISIS. 


185 


who accompanied him to the school-house. 
The sermon-plow was that old and effective 
one labeled Immediate Repentance, used by 
such master-husbandmen as St. John Baptist 
and St. Paul. 

Among those listening to this sermon, were 
Arvie, Dot and^ May. Tim intended to be 
there, but his good intention did not take him 
there. Good intentions may prove to be the 
slowest of slow wheels to travel on. Will 
Fairfax was also absent. True Winthrop 
attended this service, but it was the only time 
he was present. He went as a spy, to see 
who might attend, not as a learner to be in- 
structed. The seats of the school-house were 
all filled, for the service was a novelty. The 
impression made on the meeting was deep and 
serious. 

“ There is feeling,” thought the clergyman, 
“ and I will test it.” 

He said aloud, “ I should be glad to meet 
for private conversation any who might like 
to stop when the congregation has been dis- 
missed.” 

The congregation rose and promptly moved 
out, all excepting Arvie, May and Dot. 
These three now rose up. Arvie looked per- 
plexed. 


1 86 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“Don’t you want to stop, girls?” whis- 
pered Arvie, sitting down very decidedly. 

. May shook her head and passed out of the 
room. 

“ You will, Dot ?” 

Dot looked down and then looked up, 
her eyes swimming in tears. She was af- 
fected, but she shook her head and moved 
away. 

“Shall I Stay.^” wondered Arvie. All 
alone, would she remain for conversation ? A 
peculiar sense of isolation burdened her. She 
felt that people would point their remarks at 
her, and indeed it almost seemed as if moving 
away from the school-house, they now turned 
to look back through the darkness and through 
the very walls of the building, and saw her 
and commented upon the act. If she lingered, 
she would meet criticism in after days. True 
Winthrop, whose sharp, prying eyes she saw 
at the meeting, would be sure to make some 
sarcastic reference to the step. But if, on the 
other hand, she went out, she felt that she 
would carry with her a burdening conscious- 
ness of cowardice. It would seem like a 
retreat from duty. Then it might help some- 
body else to linger another time, if she stopped 
to-night. She felt these reasons so forcibly 


A SERIOUS CRISIS. 1 8 / 

that she reached down her hand to the seat 
she occupied, and gripped it. 

“ I will hold on ! ” she murmured. “ I must 
not go.” 

More and more did she feel that she was stop- 
ping for others as well as herself, so that when 
the clergyman approached, and said he was 
glad to see her and inquired her name, she was 
prompted to say ** Dot Fairfax,” or “ May 
Shattuck,” as well as “ Arvie Estey.” After 
her answer, Mr. Ellis kindly counseled her, 
and then she went out into the night. 

‘‘ That was an interesting case,” said Mr. 
Ellis to Mr. Eastburn when they were stand- 
ing before the school-house door, the lights 
having been extinguished, the building closed, 
and the clergyman ready to mount his carriage 
and ride off with his warden. “ Do you know 
that young woman who stopped ? ” 

“ I do know her. I was standing near the 
door when she came out just now, and I saw 
that it was one of my evening scholars, Arvie 
Estey.” 

“ I have seen her face at St. Mary’s, and she 
has been a good listener, but I never met her 
personally. A very interesting case. She 
says she met with an accident some time ago 
and lost an arm and it set her to thinking 


1 88 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

seriously and she used this expression — it 
touched me to see how she put it, hanging 
down her head, and speaking in a humble, 
sincere way — ‘ I wanted help, and I knew I 
wasn’t worthy of it. I knew I had neglected 
God, but then I knew Christ died for me, and 
I thought of Him. He seemed to be very 
near, and I thought, though I only had one 
hand to give Him — and not two — why He 
would take the one, if it was all I had, you 
know — and — I think He took it and He hasn’t 
let go since and I don’t believe He will ever.’ 
That was touching, wasn’t it ? I encouraged 
her to make her consecration to the Sav- 
iour as complete as possible, to think of Him 
more, trust Him more, pray to Him more, 
and do all she could for Him, and take a stand 
openly in His church. I took it for granted 
that she had friends she could influence — I 
saw May Shattuck with her and a dark-eyed 
girl too who has been over at church — and 
I tried to make it plain that the best way 
to help ourselves was to forget ourselves and 
go and help somebody else. I think, Mr. 
Eastburn, you have quite a responsibility here.” 

“ I hope I have, sir, if God will give me 
strength to meet it, and I don’t think He will 
fail me,” replied the teacher, 


A SERIOUS CRISIS. 


189 


I feel encouraged, Mr. Eastburn, after 
talking with this girl to come again, and I will 
let you know when. Good-night.” The rec- 
tor and his, warden drove off into the night. 

When Arvie went home, she was surprised 
to see Mrs. Shattuck in the sitting-room. If 
the girls chanced ever to be out and if it were 
past Mrs. Shattuck’s usual retiring-hour, on 
their return they would be likely to find an 
empty sitting-room, but Mrs. Shattuck would 
leave a lamp behind her to welcome them. To- 
night, the lamp and its mistress also were 
there, and was that an open Bible near Mrs. 
Shattuck ? 

“ I wonder,” thought Arvie, “if Mrs. Shat- 
tuck feels interested in the school-house meet- 
ings. I would like to ask her.” 

Mrs. Shattuck, though, did not encourage 
Arvie to ask any questions. Her manner was 
reserved. She almost told Arvie that she did 
not feel like talking. Arvie was disappointed, 
and she quickly went upstairs. If she had 
heard a brief conversation between Mrs. Shat- 
tuck and May when the latter came from the 
school-house, she might have felt differ- 
ently. 

“ Did you have a good meeting ? ” asked 
Mrs. Shattuck. 


IQO TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-xMILL. 

“ Yes, very— good,” replied May rather 
stiffly. 

“ Well, what was done ? " 

“ Oh, Mr. Ellis preached.” 

“ Did he preach a good sermon ? ” 

“ Q-q-quite.” 

“ Where is Arvie ? ” 

“ She stopped after the meeting.” 

‘‘ Stopped ? ” 

“Yes, he asked — ” 

“ Who asked ? ” 

“Why, Mr. Ellis. He asked anybody to 
stop who wanted to-to-talk with him.” 

“And Arvie stopped?” 

“Yes, mother.” 

“ I suppose there were others.” 

“ No, mother.” 

To May’s surprise, her mother remarked, 
“Why didn’t you stop?” 

“ I didn’t — want to.” 

“What did mother say that for?” wondered 
May as she went to her room. She was disap- 
pointed because her mother had not approved 
of her course. Arvie has already been reported 
as disappointed because Mrs. Shattuck had 
said so little, while May felt that she had said 
too much. Dot too was dissatisfied, because 
she had left Arvie alone at the after meeting. 


A SERIOUS CRISIS. 


I9I 

Mrs. Shattuck — if the others only knew it — 
was much dissatisfied with herself. Her con- 
science had been uneasy a long time. 

Of these four disquieted souls, only one 
treated her dissatisfaction aright. Arvie took 
her disappointment to God. She asked Him to 
reach and affect and make anew the heart of 
Mrs. Shattuck, to influence the lives of all 
about her, and most of all her own needy 
nature. When down upon the unrest of our 
souls, upon its confusing fears, upon the com- 
motion of its uncertain efforts to be better and 
its dissatisfaction because we are still so lack- 
ing, the Spirit of God descends and there 
abides, that must result which followed the 
brooding of the Mighty Spirit upon the waters 
of chaos. Lo, a new creation ! Peace in the 
place of unrest ; the beauty of a new world of 
holiness instead of the deformity of sin ; and 
what wonder if in the Eden of its joy, the soul 
rejoices and sings before the Creator who com- 
munes with it ? 


CHAPTER XVI. 


OPPOSITION. 

WONDER what this is,” thought Will 

X Fairfax. 

He was handling a book up in the Shattuck 
garret. A severe cold had kept him in doors 
for two days, and this third day he had hoped 
to resume his work in the counting-room. 
Dull, heavy snow-clouds muffling the top of 
Moose Mountain had descended, coming closer 
and closer to the houses and barns of Barkton, 
and now were trying to smother them under 
snow-flakes. 

“You must not go out to-day,” said Mrs. 
Shattuck with mother-like authority. 

“ I am willing to stay,” replied Will, “ if I 
can keep occupied.” 

He remembered that he had seen a pile of 
old volumes up in the garret, when stowing his 
trunk there one day, and he climbed again the 
dusty stairway in search of literary treasures. 
There in the garret, he dropped upon the floor, 
192 


OPPOSITION. 


193 


and in his interested hunt soon ceased to hear 
the driving of the storm against the low attic- 
windows. 

“Wonder what this is!” he said again. 
“ Some kind of a history of — America. Has 
some pictures. Looks interesting. Guess I 
will take it down-stairs.” 

He carried the book down to his room and 
then seated himself before a snappy, roaring 
fire on the wide hearth. 

“What are you up to, Will? Did you say 
come in?” cried a voice, and at the same time 
the door closed upon a caller whose knock Will 
had not noticed. 

“ Ho, that you, Tim Shattuck ? Beg pardon 
for not answering your knock. Welcome, and 
take a chair by the fire. Just the day for an 
open fire, isn't it ? ” 

“ Reading a book. Sir William ? ” 

“Yes, went mousing round up garret, and 
found this. One of your histories, learned 
young man.” 

One of mine? See here! If that isn’t a 
borrowed book, one I forgot all about ! ” 

“ Whose is it ? ” 

“That belongs to the Jones family. Been 
up garret, I don’t — know — how — long. I 
must return that when you get through. No 

13 


194 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

hurry. That book I took from an old mill — a 
curious place.*' 

Knock — knock — knock ! 

Somebody had opened the front door and 
then rapped smartly on the door of Will’s 
room. 

“ Come in ! ” shouted Will. 

The door opened, and in walked True Win- 
throp. 

“ How are you. Will, — Tim ?” said True. 

“Snowy, isn’t it? What are you doing? 
Ah, reading ! No work in my room at the 
factory and I am browsing round,” he added. 

Here, True’s evil eyes wandered about the 
room, sharply looking at object after object, 
as if a vulture hoping to find carrion. He 
found nothing to interest him until he came 
to the book in Will’s hands. 

“What have you got there?” 

“ Oh, a history I found up garret,” replied 
Will. 

“ I was just telling Will where I found 
that,” remarked Tim. “ It was in a mill 
down in Seaton, an old black tide-mill, where 
you’ll find a hundred rats to every meal- 
bag.” 

“ Encouraging outlook for the miller !.” said 
True. “Good place to camp out in, that 


OPPOSITION. 


195 


neighborhood ? I want to take this young 
man somewhere for his health, next sum- 
mer.” 

As True spoke, he laid his hand on Will, 
and his black eyes glistened as if they 
belonged to one of the hundred rats Tim had 
told about, and as if Will were the meal-bag. 
Tim did not like True well enough to give an 
opinion about the neighborhood of the old mill 
for camping-out purposes, when any tent 
would be a kind of box to imprison Will 
Fairfax. True now changed the subject of 
conversation. 

“ Look here, boys, don’t you think we are 
dreadful dull round this way?” 

“ Flow so? ” inquired Tim. 

“ Why nothing seems to flourish except 
those meetings in the school-house, and they 
are just stupid. Let’s have something else.” 

“ What else ? ” asked Will. 

“ Oh, may be something literary. At any 
rate, something interesting. Fiaven’t they 
ever had any young people’s societies or clubs 
here, Tim ? ” 

“ Sometimes. There, that makes me think 
of one society we boys had. Mr. Eastburn’s 
brother taught school here. Fie met with us. 
We called it the ^ Round-about-FFome Soci- 


196 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

ety.’ The idea was to take up subjects of 
study right at home, — what might grow in our 
fields, what might be there as rocks, in fact 
anything, birds or animals, or what may have 
happened in history, though Barkton never 
did make much stir in the world.” 

“ Let Barkton make a stir now ! " said True 
with an important air. “ Let’s get up another 
Round-about-Home Society and wake ’em up, 
all through this region. Have it literary, you 
know, somewhat social, of course, but the idea 
is to give Barkton’s young minds something to 
think about. What say. Will? Come, you 
and Tim can furnish the intelleet and 1 11 
furnish — ” 

“ The brass ! ” thought Tim. 

“ The money,” cried True. “ Come ! Shall 
we have the society? We will see about the 
money.” 

Tim always averse to an immediate decision 
said, “ I will think about it.” 

Will cried, “ I will join your society of one, 
and is there any salaried office you may have 
to give?” 

“ Salary! ” said True, sending an avaricious 
look around the room. “ Money to come in 
is what I am after, not money to pay out.” 

Tim in after-days recalled this remark by 


OPPOSITION. 197 

True, though he did not regard it as signifi- 
cant at the time. 

“Well, boys, we will have a second edition 
of the ‘ Round-about-Home Society ’ and start 
it at once,” said True. “ We will meet in the 
parlor of the tavern, for I can engage that, and 
let me see ! Say, on Monday night ! ” 

“ Monday ? ” asked Will. “ Don’t believe 
I can come Monday.” 

“ Why not ? ” 

“ I may have an engagement.” 

“ May have ! Have one with me and 
decide it.” 

“ Can’t, True, and the fact is when I come 
to think it over, I don’t know as I can join 
at all. However, I will see and let you 
know.” 

“ I can’t let you off. You said you would 
join, you know, and this society is one of those 
peculiar organizations whose doors open in 
and not out when you have promised.” 

“ Once in, you can’t get out — ha-ha ! We 
will see then. I am not in yet.” 

“ Nor I,” thought Tim, glancing at True’s 
hand resting on Will like the claw of an evil 
beast fastening on its victim. 

“ I shall expect you both,” asserted True. 
“ However, I must go now. Tim, are not you 


198 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

going down street ? I would like some com- 
pany. Come. Put your coat on.” 

“Oh, there!” exclaimed Tim. “ I told my 
mother an hour ago d would go down to the 
grocer’s, and I will hurry off with you. 
True.” 

The two went out into* the storm together, 
and as they buffeted it. True asked many 
questions about the neighborhood of the old 
tide-mill at Seaton. 

“ I have quite a scheme for camping out,” 
explained True, “next summer, you see, and 
that old tide-mill somehow takes my fancy.” 

“You can’t camp out in that, True.” 

“ Ha-ha ! it would make a good place to re- 
treat to, if it should storm.” 

“Yes, you could do that. One might hide 
away in some of its old lofts and never be 
found out.” 

“ Good place then to hide in !” said True, 
turning his watchful, black eyes on Tim. 
“ One might perhaps take provisions for a 
week and be snug as could be under its roof. 
Plenty of water there ? ” 

“ Such as it is, salt you know. But there ! 
come to think of it, right at one side of the 
mill is a spring of the sweetest, coolest water 
in the world.” 


OPPOSITION. 


199 


“ 1 see, Tim, the best neighborhood in the 
world for camping out. The whole ocean be- 
fore you, and behind you a spring of water, 
and an old mill close at hand where you can 
retreat and stay a week in one of its dark cor- 
ners and nobody knows you are there. Just 
the place ! ” 

At the grocery, Tim and True separated. 

Will Fairfax in his room, was still reading, 
apparently, but he could not confine his 
thoughts to his book. He laid it down and 
watched the fire, its big wings of yellow forever 
beating upward into the dark chimney and yet 
never fully escaping from the broad, black 
hearth. Tired of this, he turned to the win- 
dows, against which the wind was driving the 
snow. He watched awhile the eddying rush 
of white flakes, and then he turned back to 
the fire again. 

“Don’t see what is the matter with me!” 
he thought. “ Can’t seem to tie my mind down 
to anything.” 

He now rose up and walked the room. Will 
Fairfax was uneasy, just as many people are 
uneasy in times of religious quickening. He 
had not attended the school-house services 
and yet he could not escape their influence. 
They reached him and moved him, even as 


200 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

the sea affects people in some district that 
it never visits, and from the vision of whose 
inhabitants it is ever excluded. Is it without 
influence.^ By the vapors it breathes forth, the 
sea touches and vitally affects that inland dis- 
trict. From the meetings in the school-house 
went out a power communicated from person to 
person, at last affecting lives that shunned and 
hated those services. Will was not a hater, 
but he did shun the school-house. Still, he 
could not get away from it, and a conscience 
reached and stirred. Will Fairfax took about 
with him daily. In this storm, his agitation 
was unusual. 

“ Wind bothers me ! ” he said. Don’t see 
why I should care about the wind ! Sounds 
gloomy. Snow looks cold and dreary. It 
doesn’t trouble me generally. Don’t see what 
the matter is with me.” 

His disquiet was occasioned by that serious, 
persuasive Spirit of God that will not leave the 
human heart to its ease selfish and sinful, but 
again and again disturbs it. 

“ I suppose I ought to be doing differently 
myself,” thought Will. “Ah! there is a 
knock at the door ! Come in ! ” he cried. 

He was glad to hear the knock ; it promised 
a call that would divert his thoughts. He was 


OPPOSITION. 


201 


sorry when the door opened, to see Dot ; her 
presence promised anything but a change of 
his thoughts. She had been deeply interested 
in striving to secure his attendance at the 
school-house, — far more interested than to go 
herself. 

“ If I could see Will beginning a new life, how 
happy I should be ! ” she would say to her- 
self. 

She had urged him to be present at these 
special services, and he had partly promised to 
go the ensuing Monday night. 

“ She has come to get me to say I will go 
without fail,” he concluded in his own thoughts 
when he saw that opening door. He was right 
in thus deciding. 

“ Oh, Will, you want a caller ? I only called,” 
she said with an apologetic air, “ just to make 
sure that you are going to the school-house 
Monday night. You know you thought you 
might do so.” 

“Yes, I did say I might, but True Win- 
throp — ” 

“ There ! I might have guessed as much as 
that. He is always interfering.” 

“ Oh, hold on ! What he proposes is certainly 
very good, a kind of improvement society, 
literary, you know.” 


202 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“ I know what he means. I can see through 
his meaning. He wants to call off the atten- 
tion of the young people from the meetings, 
and I wouldn’t encourage him. I would re- 
fuse altogether.” 

“ Tim Shattuck hasn’t refused.” 

“ He won’t join True’s society ; you see if he 
does. I did want you to go with me, Will.” 

She left the room, a look of sorrow sadden- 
ing her face, 

Dot ! ” called out Will. “ Dot ! ” 

She stepped back, 

“What is it. Will?” 

“It isn’t just going to the meetings that 
Parson Ellis wants. He would like to have 
folks go farther than that. When you take 
your stand, I will think about taking mine.” 

Dot looked at him in silence, and then 
turned away more sorrowful still. 

“There!” thought Will, “I knew I had 
Dot then. Folks that are anxious about 
others ought to do something themselves. 
And about going Monday night, I will see 
what Tim does about True’s society. He is a 
steady chap, and if Tim says ‘no,’ I will say 
ditto.” 

He took up the history once more and tried 
to be interested in that. 


OPPOSITION. 


203 


Tim Shattuck had now returned from the 
store. In the mean time, he had left at the 
counting-room of the factory several pieces of 
mail that he found in the post-office. He was 
busily thinking about True’s proposition as he 
entered the house. 

“ I don’t feel like going into that affair,” he 
said to himself. “ I will think about it when I 
get into my room.” 

Tim’s chamber was furnished with a stove, 
and on a cold day, a fire kindled within the 
stove made very agreeable music. Tim’s 
chamber had a window also, and it looked out 
upon Moose Mountain’s huge, shaggy form. 
When work in the factory was dull and Tim 
had leisure enough for a rest, a book, and a fire 
in his room, he enjoyed its seclusion very 
much. He now kindled a fire and sat down 
by the stove, not to read but think, and as 
between the window and Moose Mountain 
there was a dense, white curtain of snow- 
flakes, there was nothing in the prospect that 
threatened to interfere with his medita- 
tions. 

“ What shall I do about True’s society ? ” he 
soliloquized. “ I don’t like his purpose in it. 
Those are good meetings at the school-house 
and they ought not to be interfered with, but 


204 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

I don’t know as I like to come down sharp on 
True and say ‘ no.’ ” 

Of course not. It was not at all his pleas- 
ure. It was not by any means his habit to 
deal thus promptly with questions of duty. 
He was not aware how this habit of procrasti- 
nation was strengthening. It grew with his 
years, even as the little roots grow into great 
ones, as the brooks swell into the rivers, as the 
bits of vapor accumulate into clouds and 
storms. He now said to himself, “ I won’t go 
into True’s society, but on the other hand, I 
won’t come down on him all at once and 
refuse. Maybe, once in a while, it will be 
policy to attend, though not to join.” 

Having disposed of this subject, he thrust 
another stick of wood into the stove and pro- 
ceeded to take up and decide another subject. 
Tim had attended several of the school-house 
meetings, and they had deeply affected him. 
He saw his duty plainly, that he ought to put 
away all sin, all indifference about religious 
matters, all neglect of God, and promptly 
begin to look to God in penitence and trust, 
making Christ his example, his great and all- 
sufficient Redeemer and Friend. In His 
church, he ought to confess Him. V/hat would 
he do ? “I wish I knew what to do about it,” 


OPPOSITION. 


205 

he said. “ I mean to think on the subject any 
way." 

Why did he not get down upon his knees 
and ask God to tell him what to do 7 A poor 
helpless sinner perplexed about the way he 
ought to travel, why did he not look off to that 
Guide-board, the Cross on Calvary? That 
tells lost souls which way to journey, and no 
pilgrim uncertain about the path of duty ever 
made a mistake if he looked at that. 

“ I wish I knew what to do ! " murmured 
Tim. A long time he sat thinking. The fire 
in the stove died down. The flakes without 
began to lose form. The meshes of this white 
curtain all ran into one another and became a 
huge confusing cloud. At last, he heard a 
step down-stairs, a pounding as of snowy feet 
on a mat in the back-entry. 

“ Father has come from the factory," 
thought Tim. 

Soon he heard Mr. Shattuck’s voice, 
“ Tim ! " 

“ ril be down, father." 

He hurried out of the room, and down-stairs, 
in the kitchen, he met his father. 

“ Well, Tim, that mail you brought from the 
post-office and left at the counting-room had 
an important order." 


2o6 too late for the tide-mill. 

“ Did it ? ” 

“ They want I don’t know how many canned 
goods packed up and sent off in five days any 
way. It will make me exceedingly busy, and 
I told the superintendent I must have help. 
He told me to pick my man, and I will take 
you if you want the job, your work being 
slack.” 

“ All right, father. I should like it much.” 

Tim went upstairs again to his room. 

“ Fire is most out ! Guess I wont stay here 
any longer. And that subject about the meet- 
ings ? ” thought Tim, moving to the window 
and looking out. “Stormy, isn’t it? How 
the wind blows! Well, I won’t let that sub- 
ject go. I will keep thinking about it. I 
shall be pretty busy, day and evening I guess, 
while I have that job at the factory, and when 
I get through — I — will decide that other mat- 
ter!” 

Allowing the vast, spiritual interests of his 
soul to swing on that trifling hinge of a little 
work, a five days’ “ job ! ” And yet the like 
thing is done by many people who permit a 
triviality to influence them in deciding the 
momentous question of their duty to God. 
Monday came, and the evening of that Mon- 
day, True expected to hold the first meeting 


OPPOSITION. 207 

of his society. The same night, services had 
been appointed at the school-house. 

“ I hope you will go with me to-night,” Dot 
had said to Will Fairfax in the afternoon. 

I will see. Dot.” 

After tea. True Winthrop called. 

“ I hope you are going, Will, to my room 
this evening.” 

“ Well, I don’t know. True.” 

“ Oh come. Will. Don’t be silly and go to 
the school-house.” 

Where is Tim Shattuck ? ” 

“ I don’t know I am sure. I should think 
you would be the one to tell that, living in the 
same house with him.” 

“ Excuse me. I will be back in a moment.” 

Will found Tim alone in the sitting- 
room. 

“ Tim, are you going to join True’s soci- 
ety?” 

“Well, I have not refused yet,” said Tim, 
following his purpose of politic inaction. 

_ “ Guess I won’t then,” replied Will. 

He left the sitting-room, but returned very 
soon. 

“ Have you seen Dot ? ” he asked. 

“ No, I haven’t,’^ said Tim. 

Will went to her room and as Dot was away 


208 too late for the tide-mill. 

he left a note, saying that he did not find her 
there to explain matters, and would she please 
excuse him for not going with her that even- 
ing? He would see her and explain every- 
thing in the morning. The new “ Round- 
about-Home Society ” held its meeting at True 
Winthrop’s room. He succeeded in attract- 
ing to it about fifteen of the young people. 
Its exercises reflected the tastes and opinions 
of its originator. As far as those exercises 
were ^Miterary,” True having arranged these, 
they abounded in irreverent allusions to the 
Bible and unfair criticisms of a religious life. 
The social features of the evening,” to use 
True’s phraseology, occupied the most of the 
time and consisted of a string of silly games. 
Before this violent gust of diverting influ- 
ences, all the serious thoughts of Will Fairfax 
went confusedly flying as snow-flakes before 
the winter wind. 

With a heavy heart. Dot went to the school- 
house. Many were present, but she was so ab- 
sorbed in her troubles that she did not notice 
who were there. She knew that there was 
singing, that there was prayer, that there was 
preaching, and — that she was in much trouble. 
She lingered with others at the after-meet- 
ing. 


OPPOSITION. 209 

“ Would you like to find the Saviour ? ” asked 
Mr. Ellis as he stopped at Dot’s seat. 

“ I am in trouble,” she replied, “ for another. 
I am very anxious about ^my brother,” she 
said. 

“ And not for yourself ? ” 

Dot burst into tears and bowed her head 
upon her hands. 

“ Oh, yes,” she said, “ but I don’t know. I 
seem to be away off from God. I know I am 
not right in my own heart, but I have been 
thinking of another and my motives seem con- 
fused. I don’t know as God wants people to 
come that way when they are thinking about 
others more than themselves. My motives are 
all mixed up.” 

“ They are very clear to God. He knows 
that you are troubled for your brother.” 

Dot assented, nodding her head. 

“ He knows too that you are somewhat inter- 
ested for yourself.” 

“ Oh, yes, sir.” 

“ More, I think, than you imagine.” 

“ I dare say, sir. ” 

“ You feel that you have done wrong, that 
you have been living away from God and try- 
ing to live without Him and you are very 
sorry ? ” 


210 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

Oh, yes,^ sir.” 

‘‘And you would like to find Him and be 
assured of His forgiveness and blessing, but 
you feel that He is far away ? ” 

“That is it.” 

“ But He is near, very near. He comes in the 
person of His dear Son, the good Shepherd of 
souls, and He is always hunting for the lost 
lamb, isn’t He ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

“ And if it be a crying lamb, one that yearns 
for Him and mourns for Him, don’t you think 
He is specially near ? Would He go by a lost, 
bleating lamb? ” 

“ Oh, no, sir.” 

“Cry to Him just here. Pray to Him now. 
Yield yourself to Him. Don’t doubt in the 
least. Believe what He has said, ‘ Him that 
corneth to me, I will in no wise cast out.’ ” 

Mr. Ellis passed away, but at once returned. 

“ I did not wait for your answer. Will you 
not make the surrender now ? ” 

“ Yes, sir.” 

That night, not only Dot Fairfax but May 
Shattuck, in lowly self-distrust, in sincere pen- 
itence, in an honest surrender committed her- 
self to that Saviour who has come from the 
very heart of Deity, and is infinite love as well 


OPPOSITION. 


2II 


as infinite power and offers Himself for the 
salvation of a lost world. 

It was not long ere Mrs. Shattuck followed 
the example of Dot and May. 

What made you think specially of your 
duty?” asked Mr. Ellis. 

“ Because,” said Mrs. Shattuck, “ I had so 
many young people, bright ones too, in my 
house, and I felt a responsibility for them and 
yet felt so helpless. That made me think of 
God as one who might help me, and when a 
person begins to think seriously of God, he is 
sure to think about himself and what he needs, 
and I have made up my mind I have a duty in 
my own case.” 

It made a great difference in that home 
when Mrs. Shattuck with her strong, impul- 
sive nature submitted herself to Christ’s gentle 
yoke, when she went about wearing Christ’s 
bridle on her tongue, and in her acts showing 
the gentle, restraining influence of His love. 
She was helped by May, Dot and Arvie. 

“ You, with Mrs. Shattuck, expect confirma- 
tion. In Christ’s dear Church,^you will be active 
I know, doing something for Christ in trying 
to live for others and in trying to get others to 
live for Christ,” Mr. Ellis had said to the three 
young women at Mrs. Shattuck’s. 


212 


TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


Yes,” they had all told him. We will 
try,” when alone they had said to one another, 
“ to get True Winthrop’s society all into the 
school-house.” 

True Winthrop knew nothing of the pray- 
ers and efforts directed against his evil plots. 
He did know, though, that one by one his 
young supporters left him, and his “ Round- 
about-Home-Society” went out of existence 
like a candle expiring for the want of illumi- 
nating material. Several of his allies were won 
to a new life. Will Fairfax, agreeable, amia- 
ble, easily influenced, did not go so far as to 
begin that life, but he made a visible improve- 
ment in some of his methods and promised 
Dot some time that he would join her in her 
new efforts. This was not a satisfactory course 
in promise-making. Tim Shattuck went on 
intending and intending, yet never doing. 
When he had finished that “five days’ job” at 
the factory, he was no nearer a decision but 
farther removed from it. This might have 
been expected. So great, so increasing is the 
power of procrastination, that if we neglect for 
a few days to pull a weed in the garden, it will 
be easier to dig up a new garden-bed than sim- 
ply to pluck that weak weed. Somehow such 
neglected duties make roots very fast. We 


OPPOSITION. 


213 


learn very soon how easy it is to neglect them, 
and then are surprised to find out how hard it 
is to tear them up. 


CHAPTER XVII. 


BLOSSOMS ON AN OLD BRANCH. 

N old man stood at a fence, looking 



vacantly out upon the landscape and 


'saying, “What can I do?" It was Uncle Ben 
Bowler. Like almost every one else in the 
neighborhood, he had attended the special 
services in the school-house and had been 
affected by them. 

‘‘I havn’t much to give," the old man had 
concluded, “ but if the Lord will take a mean 
little remnant that I am ashamed to say any- 
thing about, if he will take what is left of a 
life most used up, he is welcome to it." 

God was pleased to take Uncle Ben’s little 
fraction, and the old sailor led a different life 
ever after. Mr. Ellis tt^ed to leave with all 
docile hearers these four words, “giving up, 
going out." He said one night, “ These four 
words will pretty well give the measurement 
of our religion. Toward God, it is a ‘giving 
up ’ continually, and toward others in the 


214 


BLOSSOMS ON AN OLD BRANCH. 21$ 

Church and in the community it is or ought to 
be a ‘going out ’ continually. It is a giving 
up in penitence, renunciation, trust. It is a 
going out in deeds of love and help. Four 
.words ; don’t forget them, please. It is ‘ giv- 
ing up, going out.’ ” 

Uncle Ben Bowler looking off upon the 
spring landscape, upon Moose Mountain 
where the forest in its new foliage made ter- 
races of green climbing the mountain-slope, 
thought of the clergyman’s words. He felt 
too, the influences of the spring, when all 
nature spurs us to attempt some achievement. 

“ Now, I can see how it is about the ‘ giving 
up ’ to God,” soliloquized the old pilgrim, 
“and I can see summat into the ‘going out.’ 
Of course, we can be helpful all around us. 
An old man though, .like me, wonders what he 
can do. Now if people round here fished, I 
could make ’em a good, honest fishin’ line and 
help things that way. Of course, I can fetch 
wood and water and make myself handy and 
help along, may be, that way. It don’t seem 
though, as if an old branch could do much.” 
He ended in this fashion, for just then he 
fastened his big, faded eyes on the branch of 
an old apple-tree, a branch that drooped near 
him. 


2i6 too late for the TIDE- mill. 

“ If that old branch ain’t goin’ to blossom ! ” 
said Uncle Ben, turning aside his thoughts 
from the subject of helpfulness. “Yes, she’s 
agoin’ to blossom, sure ! Now that is encour- 
agin’ ! There is an old branch and it’s a-goin’ 
to do suthin’.” 

The more Uncle Ben looked at this particu- 
lar branch, the less despondent did he feel. 

“ I’m a poor old branch, but I can do some 
good yet,” he concluded. What could he do ? 
He thought of a project one day. 

The Jones-house was a long structure, run- 
ning parallel with the road ; but between the 
road and the house was a yard that painfully 
needed cultivation. Weeds ragged and 
scrawny and prolific, would be likely to riot 
on every hand at a later date. Uncle Ben 
scratched his head and said, “ I’ve got it ! I’ll 
turn gardener and make suthin’ pretty for 
folks to look at, yes, for the folks to look at 
from the winder, and for folks to see when 
they are a-goin’ by. I can give the children 
and sick folks all the posies they want. Yes, 
I’ll have a garden.” 

That yard was the scene of great activity. 
There was digging, and there was bed-making, 
and there was planting. In this way, the 
“ old branch ” prepared to blossom and how 


BLOSSOMS ON AN OLD BRANCH. 217 

beautilully it asserted its power to do some- 
thing! There was a flowering out into sweet- 
peas, nasturtiums, candy-tuft, phlox, mari- 
golds and other garden-favorites. To tired 
eyes within, to weary hearts without, the 
garden was a source of unending pleasure. 

“Some of Uncle Ben’s flowers,” as people 
would say, went into the hands of sick people 
or old pilgrims like himself, and they were 
like messages from God telling of His love, 
steadfast and beautiful even as nature’s 
annual flowering time. 

One afternoon Uncle Ben had a caller in his 
garden. People would sonietimes step within 
the enclosure made so attractive and sit in 
what he called his “ bower.” Its seat was very 
humble, only a shoe box turned over. Its 
roof was a very cheap one, only poles bent 
into an arch for which morning-glories with 
their leaves plaited a covering and then hung 
the walls each morning with bells that swung 
in the wind but modestly refused to startle the 
world by any music. It was an unusual vis- 
itor that Uncle Ben had one day when the 
autumn ripeness was giving to field and forest 
a rare tinting. 

Uncle Ben,” said a voice, “you have done 
a good work this summer. I have not seen 


2I8 too late for the tide-mill. 


this yard looking so well — never, I can safely 
say. 

“ Oh, thank you ! Won’t you come in, Mr. 
Prentiss, and take a seat in my bower and rest 
you : 

It was the superintendent of the canning 
factory close at hand. He generally went 
whirling by in his rapid little wagon, and 
to walk was only occasional, while to stop 
and lean on anybody’s fence was a rare 
thing. 

“ Oh, come in ! ” Uncle Ben called again. 

“Thank you. I do feel tired.” 

Mr. Prentiss slowly passed into the garden 
as if very weary, and then entered Uncle Ben’s 
bower. 

“ Why, Skipper — ” he always gave this title 
to the old sailor when directly addressing him 
and it pleased him — “you have a nice little 
spot here.” 

“ I have tried to have it, Mr. Prentiss.” 

“ You have succeeded.” 

This testimony to the “blossoming of an 
old branch” was grateful to Uncle Ben. 

“ I s’pose, Mr. Prentiss, superintendents get 
tired like other folks.” 

“ Oh, yes, though sometimes they feel that 
people expect them to work and worry and 


BLOSSOMS ON AN OLD BRANCH. 2 IQ 


never get tired. It is the worry we feel very 
much.” 

“I daresay,” said Uncle Ben in a sympa- 
thetic tone of voice. “There is a lot that 
comeson your shoulders.” 

“ Yes, it not only comes on, but it is hard to 
get off. That though is not the worst thing. 
When you trust people and expect them to 
come up to your expectations and they do 
not, that is very trying.” 

Whom did Mr. Prentiss mean ? If he had 
told the old man he was thinking about his 
nephew, it would have withered the beauty of 
his garden in Uncle Ben’s eyes. 

Uncle Ben could only say, “ Yes, yes ! ” 

There was a little period of silence in the 
bower, interrupted only by the musical see- 
sawing of a cricket, bravely trying to make the 
world think there would be no winter, only 
one glorious autumn with diamonds on all the 
trees — forever. 

“ Who are those? ” asked Mr. Prentiss, look- 
ing through a loop-hole in the bower out 
upon the road. “ Two young men. Oh, I 
see ! ” 

Uncle Ben strained his feeble vision and 
said, “I guess they are True Winthrop and 
Will Fairfax a-comin’ from the factory.” 


220 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“ Indeed ! I thought they told me they 
wanted to go over to the cars.” 

“ Somebody said they were a-goin’ campin’ 
out. It’s rather late, seems to me. I wonder 
where they’re goin’.” 

“No, I believe they have given that up,” 
replied Mr. Prentiss, speaking slowly as if his 
thoughts were on something else. 

“ I wonder what that means,” he added. 

Uncle Ben could not send any ray of infor- 
mation into the shadows of this wonder what- 
ever it might be. The superintendent then 
rose and said he must be going. 

“ Well, Skipper,” he said cordially, holding 
out his hand — it was not extended to every 
one — “ I have had a good rest though a short 
one. Your garden has done a good work. It 
sort of cheers up people and gives them some- 
thing else to think of.” 

“ Oh, thank ye. I feel paid for my work, 
and — and — Mr. Prentiss, you are doin’ a good 
work, a great one I think, employin’ so many 
people and keepin’ all these homes a-goin’.” 

Was not that thoughtful speech a bright 
blossom on Uncle Ben’s branch? 

“ Oh, thank you ! That helps me a lot.” 

The superintendent now hastily passed out 
of the garden into the road, and left this “ bios- 


BLOSSOMS ON AN OLD BRANCH. 


221 


soming old branch ” to its beautiful seclusion 
-amid morning-glories, nasturtiums, and the 
larkspurs at whose sweet targets the bees 
were clumsily aiming. 


CHAPTER XVIII. 

THE FIRE. 

HE superintendent was thinking about 



the two young men whom he had seen 


walking in the road. He thought he had under- 
stood the coming of Will Fairfax to Barkton. 
He was an agreeable, good-looking young fel- 
low out of work in the city, and chancing to 
see that a book-keeper was needed in Barkton, 
he applied for and obtained the situation. 
There was no mystery about this. But why 
should True Winthrop come to Barkton and 
go to work as an ordinary hand in the canning 
factory? Mr. Prentiss did want to ask Uncle 
Ben what he thought of True Winthrop. If 
he had put the question. Uncle Ben would 
have cautiously said, I am disappinted in 
that young man.” 

He was sorely disappointed. He wanted to 
believe that True was the mysterious hero of 
his famous Seaton story, but he had aban- 
doned that theory long ago. He had seen too 


222 


THE FIRE. 


223 

much of True’s evil eye to believe that it would 
match the nobility of his missing hero. 

Mr. Prentiss was obliged to rely on his own 
opinion of True Winthrop, and that left him 
still wondering why True came to Barkton. 
It did seem singular, for True was a young 
man of much energy, intelligence and shrewd- 
ness, and he was qualified for something far 
above his present position, that of a manipu- 
lator of cans in this country-factory. The mys- 
tery must be veiled a little longer. Mr. Pren- 
tiss’ present perplexity concerned the strange 
disappearance of money from the office ; and 
why he should connect the agency of Ben 
Bowler’s own nephew, Billy Jones, with such 
disappearance might seem as unaccountable as 
the loss of the money through May Shattuck 
or Dot Fairfax or her brother. Billy among 
the young men was a pattern of good morals. 

“ Now if I should suspect Will Fairfax of 
it,” reasoned Mr. Prentiss, “that might seem 
more probable, but Will was the person telling 
me of the loss and thieves are not apt to tell 
when money is missed that they have taken. 
Of course, they might, but it is not probable, 
and I can’t help thinking that Billy knows 
about it.” 

The perplexity of Mr. Prentiss in Uncle 


224 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

Ben’s bower had followed a second announce- 
ment by the book-keeper that money, that very 
day, was missing from the cash drawer of the 
counting-room, and this time, it was about 
twenty dollars. 

“ I left it all right when I went to dinner,” 
Will Fairfax promptly reported to Mr. Pren- 
tiss as soon as he missed it after returning, 
“and I don’t see where it went. Drawer was 
locked.” 

“ Who was in the office while you were 
gone?” asked Mr. Prentiss. 

“ Billy Jones was not in it, but you know he 
works in the room off the office, and you told 
him to look after things while I was gone. 
Billy says he had his eye on the office 'all the 
time and he did not see anybody come in,” re- 
plied Will. 

Mr. Prentiss looked about the office as if to 
see how a person could possibly have meddled 
with that locked cash-drawer and yet Billy not 
have seen any one. There was a window open- 
ing theoretically from the office into the fac- 
tory but it was rarely opened as a fact, and 
Mr. Prentiss did not halt in his inspection of 
the room to inquire whether anybody unseen 
by Billy could have entered the office by way 
of that window. 


THE FIRE. 225 

It could not have been Billy Jones, you 
think?" suggested Mr. Prentiss. 

“You mean that Billy took it?" replied 
Will Fairfax. “ I would sooner suspect myself." 

“ Perhaps you are the one," thought Mr. 
Prentiss. “ If so, I never saw a better counter- 
feit of innocence." 

That day, True Winthrop had quit work at 
an early hour as he expected to take an 
afternoon train for Seaton where the long an- 
ticipated “camp" was to be established. As 
Will had obtained a furlough of a week, he 
had planned to accompany True, and Mr. 
Prentiss supposed that the two had started 
long ago for the cars, when to his surprise, 
from Uncle Ben’s bower he saw the two 
young men sauntering down the road. 

“ That doesn’t look like going to the cars," 
thought Mr. Prentiss. “ Perhaps Will wants 
me at the office." 

When he reached the office. Will told him 
that True had changed his plans and had con- 
cluded not to start until the next day. He 
also handed Mr. Prentiss some mail and said, 
“ The expressman passed me to-day in the 
street and said the bank had notified him that 
he was to take you some money to pay off 
the hands and it would arrive before night.". 


226 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


“ Indeed,” said Mr. Prentiss, '' I thought it 
would not come until to-morrow, and here is 
our safe gone ! ” 

The safe of the factory had been sent away 
to be exchanged for a better article, and the 
latter was expected the next day, at which time 
Mr. Prentiss wished the money for paying the 
hands to arrive. The bank was the Moose 
Mountain National, but it was not located in 
Barkton, and as the money by this time was 
on its way to the factory, Mr. Prentiss could 
not conveniently turn it back to a safe hiding- 
place. 

‘^Well,” exclaimed Mr. Prentiss, “I guess it 
will be all right after all. Mr. Shattuck and Tim 
have some night-work here, and I shall be writ- 
ing in the counting-room till nine, and I will 
just get them to stay here and do guard duty. 

I would do it myself, but I have an ugly cold, 
and ought to be at home looking after it.” 

“ I will stay with pleasure, Mr. Prentiss. I 
would like the fun,” said Will. 

Mr. Prentiss declined the offer, remarking to 
himself, “You may be all right, Will, but too 
much money has disappeared when you have, 
been on duty to allow me to risk this big sum 
in your care. Tim and his father, I know I 
can trust.” 


THE FIRE. 


227 


The money came with the expressman at 
twilight, and Mr. Prentiss packed its jingling 
contents in the heavy, oaken cash-drawer, lock- 
ing it securely, and then putting the key in his 
pocket. 

“ There,” he exclaimed, “ I guess that will 
be all right.” 

Tim and his father were entirely willing to 
remain at the factory, as in a room opening 
out of the counting-room there were settees 
where they could make up beds. In a closet, 
was bedding that Mr. Prentiss kept for the use 
of any of his overseers, in whose room work 
might be pressing at any season of the year, 
and late inspection at night and early inspec- 
tion in the morning might be demanded of 
them. 

“ You need not both watch,” Mr. Prentiss 
said to Mr. Shattuck and Tim. “ One can 
watch and the other sleep. I will have some- 
body stop at your house when they go along, 
and get Mrs. Shattuck to send you a good, 
warm supper, and a breakfast in the morning.” 

“ Thank you, sir,” replied Mr. Shattuck. As 
this service as watchmen meant extra pay, 
Tim and his father were very willing to spend 
the night in the counting-room. They ar- 
ranged that Mr. Shattuck should watch until 


228 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

twelve, and then Tim should watch until three. 
They also divided between them the remain- 
ing hours until seven, when a new day of work 
would begin, or it was expected then it would 
begin. Work on the morrow, it would be 
seen that night might be unexpectedly de- 
ferred for a long time. 

The evening of a very eventful autumn 
night opened peacefully and merrily in the 
office of the canning factory. 

“ Here we are, father ! ” exclaimed May 
Shattuck soon after six. ‘‘ Mother has sent 
you a hot supper.” 

“ Oh, that is good,” replied Mr. Shattuck. 

“ Come in, come in ! Mr. Prentiss has gone to 
the post-office, and Tim and I are all alone. 
See how comfortable we are ! ” 

A fire had been kindled in the office stove, 
and the warmth it diffused, was in agreeable 
contrast with the autumn coolness of the even- 
ing air. 

Two beds had already been made on the set- 
tees in the room adjoining the office, and 
now on a table Mr. Shattuck made a 
tempting display of the supper sent from 
home. 

Well, good night, father! I will report at 
home that you are doing well here,” said May. 


THE FIRE. 


229 

“ I suppose you are so busy you can’t afford 
time to come home.” 

“ On duty and all’s well,” said Mr. Shattuck, 
without making any explanation of the reason 
of his detention in the factory. 

The above report in both of its divisions 
was true up to a late hour. Mr. Prentiss 
remained as long as he felt it to be advisable 
and then went home to doctor a cold which 
threatened to grow warmer rather than colder 
and inflame into a fever. Mr. Shattuck had 
retired to his narrow couch, saying, “ Now, 
Tim, be sure and arouse me if you hear any 
suspicious noise ! Of course you won’t, but 
mind ! Be sure and call me if you hear any 
noise. Don’t put it off, but speak ! ” 

Mr. Shattuck considered his final caution 
necessary, knowing so well Tim’s disposition to 
procrastinate. 

“ I will, father — ” 

“ Will what ? Put it off or speak ? ” 

“ Ha-ha ! speak, of course ! Don’t worry.” 

I won’t worry if you’ll do a little for me, 
and when my watch begins, I will do the 
worrying for you.” 

“ All right, father ! ” 

“ Now wake me if you hear any noise, for 
we both may need to watch then.” 


230 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


It soon was quiet in the counting-room. Tim 
could hear the clock ticking there, and he 
caught also Mr. Shattuck’s very audible snore 
from his quarters, while the wind moaned 
without. Tim yawned. 

“That won’t do,” he thought, rising and 
walking about. “ I must not get asleep. Is 
there not something to read ? Oh, there is a 
business directory of some place. Guess I 
will look at that.” 

Tim turned over the pages of the directory 
until he was tired, and then he walked about 
the office. The clock ticked, his father snored, 
and the wind kept up its murmuring. 

“Well,” thought Tim, “this is poky. I 
don’t believe there will beany trouble to-night. 
Hullo! there goes a carriage.” 

The wheels rattled away sharply in the night, 
and afterwards the silence of the place was all 
the more profound. 

“ I wish I had some company,” said Tim. 
“ If the night-watch was only on 1 ” 

In the very busiest seasons, a watchman was 
employed to look out for the fires, and he 
would begin his duties in a few days. 

Between eleven and twelve, Tim heard a 
noise. It startled him. He had been drowsy, 
but this peculiar sound thrilled him. He was 


THE FIRE. 


231 


not a coward by any means, but there are cer- 
tain sounds whether heard night or day, that 
always affect us peculiarly. The echo of a 
falling body may startle us, but it is not re- 
peated, and we cease to care for it. But what 
of a step, say, a careful, cautious, sly step, that 
another moment may be a trifle bold and then 
suddenly is hushed as if its owner said, “ I was 
careless then. He must have heard that and 
I will go more quietly or I can’t do all the 
mischief I had in mind!” We listen with a 
beating heart, — it is gone — ah 1 it comes again, 
that soft, sly tread, creaking a little on the 
stairs, holding on a moment or ten minutes if 
need be, till we are asleep again, then advanc- 
ing, restraining itself, going on tip-toe, hushing 
its fall — bah I 

“ I heard a step, I know,” said Tim, starting 
up and going to the door. Outside of the 
ofiflce-door was a street-lamp, the only lamp of 
that kind in Barkton, and Mr. Prentiss was 
particular to have it lighted every night. 

“ It looks,” he said to himself, “ as if some- 
body was on guard.” 

This lamp threw a broad beam of light down 
on the doorsteps, and as Tim opened the door 
and looked out, he saw the clear, bright light 
resting on the steps, and three autumn leaves 


232 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

— for he afterwards remembered that he 
counted them — leaves that the wind had 
whirled upon the steps. 

“ Nothing here,” said Tim, ‘‘ but the light. 
I guess I was mistaken. If I wasn’t mis- 
taken,” he continued to reflect, turning back 
into the warm office, “ then it was somebody 
who went along the building in front and 
turned the corner at the right. I have a great 
mind to wake up father and go out and see 
what is up.” 

It was Tim’s nature to delay everything, and 
he concluded he would not speak to his father 
unless he heard the noise again. The place 
was once more quiet. Half an hour went by. 
About fifteen minutes before twelve, he heard 
the sound of steps again. There was no doubt 
about it now. It was none of your sly, sup- 
pressed tip-toeing but a hurried tread, a run, a 
leaping on the doorsteps. A burglar? A bold 
one if he were. Tim ran to the office door. 
To gain it, one went into a short, narrow pas- 
sage way and three strides, two even, would 
bring him to -the door. There was a win- 
dow in the upper half, and if one wished, he 
could look outside and not open the door. 
When Tim reached this passage-way, he saw 
somebody on the doorsteps, and then this per- 


THE FIRE. 


233 


son boldly grasped the latch of the door and 
vigorously shook it, for the door was locked. 

“ Why, who is that ! ” wondered Tim. Be- 
tween him and the light, he saw a head, only 
a head, for the rest of the person was hidden. 
This head shook. It very noticeably shook. 

“ Uncle Ben Bowler ! T exclaimed Tim. 

“ What does he want } ” 

Hurry! ” Uncle Ben was shouting. 

“Why, what do you want?” asked Tim 
throwing the door wide open. He saw then 
that Uncle Ben had a pail in his hand. 

“ F-f-fire ! ” gasped the old man. “Some 
rubbish back of the factory shed has got — afire 
-^and I tried to put — it out — light came into 
my window — and that’s how I saw it—” 

“ You don’t say ! Father! Father !” shouted 
Tim rushing back into the office, “ there’s a 
fire ! Father ! Fa — ” 

Tim was in the midst of the utterance of this 
last word when his father bounded out upon 
the floor, his hair dishevelled, the bed clothes 
flapping about him like wings 

“ What — what, Tim ? ” 

“ Rubbish on fire! I’ll go out — back of the 
factory — and put it out, father ! ” 

“ Uncle Ben, tell me the prospect,” said Mr. 
Sbattuck, dressing as he was talking. “ Tim — 


234 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

Tim — there is a pail in the long canning room 
under the bench — here’s a match — here’s a lan- 
tern — and Uncle Ben, let me know about it, 
quick ! ” 

Mr. Shattuck was trying to dress and find a 
lantern and give orders at the same time. 

“ I’ll keep guard here, Tim ! Rouse the 
neighbors if necessary ! ” he added. 

They quickly went, Tim finding his pail and 
hurrying off one way, while Uncle Ben rushed 
out of the door of the office ih the opposite 
direction. 

“Feel like a caged eagle!” said Mr. Shat- 
tuck, hastily pulling on his clothes. “ I want to 
be out there, and yet I am in here — can’t leave 
in fact. How did that rubbish get afire! To 
think it should burn to-night of all nights ! ” 

While Mr. Shattuck was dressing, Tim was 
hurrying to the big bonfire back of the factory. 
He could see a little of its light before turning 
a rear corner of the building, but passing that 
corner, the full, sharp glare of the fire burst 
upon him. Tim saw at once what the trouble 
was. In the rear of the factory was a long, 
low shed used for various storage purposes. 
Behind the shed was a large pile of refuse stuff 
from a field that had been cultivated by the 
Shattucks the past season. Bean-vines, corn- 


THE FIRE. 


235 


stalks, weeds, and other vegetable matter had 
accumulated during August and September. 
Tim and his father had hired this field, and 
worked it when at leisure, employing a third 
hand when they themselves were busy in the 
factory. It had been very convenient to pile 
dead vines and dried stalks in the rear of the 
shed, but Mr. Shattuck had several times asked 
Tim to remove it, and Tim as constantly and 
good-naturedly said, “ I will do it, father. I 
will certainly look after it.” 

Somebody else had now looked after it and 
set fire to it, for in no other way could this 
conflagration be accounted for. A heap of 
dried vegetable matter turned into a bonfire 
may seem innocent enough, but on one side of 
the fire was the shed, and on the opposite a 
clump of pines. If the shed should catch afire, 
it would certainly ignite the factory. If, still 
again, the flames of this burning heap did not 
start the shed into a blaze, there was the clump 
of pine trees. If these caught, sooner or later 
the shed would take afire, unless Tim and any 
allies could drench it with water. Allies ! 
There was Uncle Ben ; there was his daughter 
Mrs. Jones — she was flying around half-dis- 
tracted, brandishing a little tin dipper; Billy 
Jones had two younger brothers, and a sister 


236 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

older than himself ; these three were all out. 
Billy was away. 

Uncle Ben had aroused every living being 
under his roof, and they had obeyed his direc- 
tions to “bring suthin’ to put water in.” One 
had a gallon tin pail, a second a bowl, and a 
third a mug, while Mrs. Jones waved her 
dipper. 

“ Oh ! ” shrieked Tim, “ the fire is catch- 
ing in the pines! Here, run, Jimmy” — he 
called out to one of the Jones brothers — 
“ rouse the neighbors, and on the way, stop at 
the office and tell father.” 

Jimmy sprang off at once, and Tim looked 
round on his rescue-force. Then he gave a 
hurried glance at the shed, and a second at the 
pines whose branches the flames first carelessly 
licked and then began ravenously to devour. 

“ See here ! ” he shouted. “ All that can be 
done is to wet the side of the shed next the 
fire, and save the building if we can. Every- 
body get a good-sized pail and form a line 
from that well there to the fire. Uncle Ben, 
you draw the water at the well and the others 
pass it along, and I will throw it on the shed.” 

This small fire-company soon provided 
itself with pails, and the work of rescue began. 
Uncle Ben Bowler drew the water and filled 


THE FIRE. 


237 


Sammy Jones’ pail. This he passed to Mary, 
his sister, who ran with it to Mrs. Jones. She 
in turn passed it to Tim who faced the fire 
and, running along its line, drenched the shed 
wherever it was most exposed to the heat. 

“ Oh dear ! ” thought Tim giving a glance at 
the roof of the shed. “ That will be hotter than 
a furnace soon, and if we had a ladder — and 
half-a-dozen men — and — and — ” His soliloquy 
ended in a shout, Fire-re-re ! Fire-re-re ! ” 

He could hear Jimmy Jones as he now ran 
down the street, crying, “ Fire-re-re ! ” 

And hark ! Who was it blowing a horn ? 
It was Mr. Shattuck. It chafed him to think 
there was an enemy in the shape of hot, cruel 
flame pressing, it might be, closer and closer to 
the factory, and yet he could render no help. 
Able to turn here and there, to walk, to run, to 
leap in one mighty effort — it seemed to him — to 
the very front of that advancing wall of flame, 
and yet he was as unable as if he had been 
bound by a chain to that money-drawer and 
not left untied to watch it. 

“ Well,” he thought, “ I can do something 
beside staying here and watching; I can go to 
the door and shout, ‘ Fire ! ’ I can — ” 

He stopped and looked up at a tin horn 
lying on a shelf back of the desk in the count- 


238 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

ing-room. Why it had been placed there, he 
knew not, but he imagined that one of Mr. 
Prentiss’ children might have left it there. 

“ It will do good service now,” he said. 

Seizing it, he went to the door and standing 
out upon the steps, he lifted it to his mouth 
and blew a number of long, sharp blasts. 

“ Everybody with ears — everybody round 
here — ought to hear that,” he said. “ Glad I 
can do something. I will blow again.” 

He blew, and Tim was glad to hear it, for 
he knew it must be an alarm given by some- 
body and would help bring somebody else. 
And as if in response to these very summons, 
a person came, but came from an unexpected 
quarter. If Mr. Shattuck had turned back 
into the counting-room, — but he did not for he 
thought he was doing too much good with his 
tin horn, — he would have seen a mysterious 
movement of a window not far from the 
money-drawer. It was a window opening 
into the factory, that window which Mr. 
Prentiss had neglected to notice, the after- 
noon previous when he had that talk with Will 
Fairfax about the missing money. He had 
wondered in his thoughts as he looked about 
the counting-room, how a person could have 
entered the place and stolen money without 


THE FIRE. 


239 


Billy Jones’ knowledge. The counting-room 
was a late addition to the body of the building 
and covered this window previously existing in 
the wall of the factory. It was sometimes and 
yet rarely opened, for a door had been cut in 
the wall giving a better way of communication 
with the factory. Upon the sill and along the 
sashes of the window, the dust had gathered 
thick. It was about to be disturbed though, 
for the window in a strange way moved ! It 
softly rose ! It rose higher and higher, and 
out of the dark behind him, crept into the 
light before him — a man ! A friend to help 
extinguish the fire in response to those furi- 
ously beseeching blasts on Davis Shattuck’s 
horn ? 

“ Toot — toot — toot ! ” went the horn, “ toot- 
t-t-t!” If Davis Shattuck could only have 
seen this arrival ! 

All the time, the man was moving softly, 
stealthily, steadily toward the money-drawer, 
and inserting in the lock a key he carried in 
his hand, quickly turned it. The key gave a 
sharp, unexpected click. 

“ Oh ! ” the rhan was exclaiming to himself, 
and he lifted his eyes anxiously toward the 
door where Davis Shattuck in silence now was 
waiting for some response to his horn. Mr. 


240 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

Shattuck’s hearing, strained intensely to catch 
every sound, heard that suspicious click be- 
hind him. Was that the echo of an answer to 
the Shattuck-appeal ? He turned, looked back 
into the office and— dropped his horn ! He 
did not sound any more blasts that people 
might come. This arrival was enough for 
him. He appreciated at once its nature. He 
saw a man with face disguised in some way, 
crouching over the money-drawer and lifting 
out of it the bag of coin that had been the oc- 
casion of so much anxiety. The watchman 
sprang for the robber and gripped him and — 
that was the last Davis Shattuck knew for a 
while. He was only conscious that something 
had struck him in the forehead. He had an 
idea it was a blow from the money bag itself, 
an ungrateful act on the part of an object that 
had received so much solicitous care. After 
this he had no more ideas for five minutes at 
least. When he began to think again, some- 
body of the size of the robber was standing 
over him. Then he thought it was the robber 
himself. No, ft was Billy Jones, saying, “ Too 
bad, too bad, Mr. Shattuck ! Let me lift you 
up and put you on that settee ! Your head is 
bleeding. Did you fall?’’ 

“The money-drawer!” gasped Mr. Shattuck 


THE FIRE. 241 

the moment he could find his tongue, for that 
useful member seemed to have disappeared 
altogether. 

“ The money-drawer ? ” said Billy, leaving 
his charge on the settee a moment. “ I guess 
that is all right. I will see.” 

He came back, saying, in a soothing tone, 
“ It looks all right. It is shut. What do you 
mean ? Guess you got asleep, and have been 
dreaming, and fell. Here, let me get some 
water and wipe the blood off your forehead.” 

“ The fire ! ” murmured Mr. Shattuck. 

“ Let the rest look after that ! ” said Billy. 
“ I must look after you. There ! I’ll use my 
handkerchief.” 

Mr. Shattuck was one of the prudent men 
who always carry a little pin case in a vest- 
pocket and a bit of sticking plaster in their 
pocket-book. The former was of no use in 
this emergency, but the plaster could be, and 
Mr. Shattuck told Billy in which pocket to find 
it. This young doctor so dexterously applied 
the plaster that Mr. Shattuck murmured, 
“ That’s nice ! ” and then he dropped grate- 
fully back into that slumber out of which 
Tim’s sharp, loud call had lately aroused him. 

“ Well,” said Billy, looking at his patient 
before him, “guess he is all right now ! ” 

16 


242 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-IVHLL. 

“Hullo! What’s up?” shrieked a man 
rushing into the office, panting, nigh breath- 
less. “ Factory afire, and — what’s the matter 
with — Shattuck ? ” 

It was Mr. Prentiss, whom the alarm had 
finally reached, and he looked about with the 
air of a man distracted for various considera- 
tions and hardly knowing what to say or do first. 

“ Oh, I think it will be all right,” replied 
Billy, trying to say it composedly, though the 
rapidly increasing clamor about the building 
excited him. 

“ Money-drawer all right ? ” thought Mr. 
Prentiss, turning to go and then returning. 
He tried the drawer. Was all that we have 
been witnessing through the glass of this story 
an illusion? Had not there been really a 
theft ? Had not the drawer been opened ? 
The drawer was locked, securely locked. And 
the window that we saw gradually rising, 
steadily opening, was now shut ! It was an 
innocent looking window as ever was set in 
the wall of a building. 

“ Stay here 1 ” shouted Mr. Prentiss to Billy. 
“Don’t leave till I tell you! Shattuck will 
get over that tumble — but — ” he repeated this 
as he left the counting-room — “ I am afraid my 
building won’t survive the fire.” 


THE FIRE. 


243 


He rushed to the rear of the building to find 
there a crowd every moment growing bigger, 
and what a fight it was with the flames ! These 
had attacked all the front of the grove of 
pines and were rioting everywhere among the 
branches. The heat was intense, and the shed 
was smoking in several places. If the shed 
went, the factory was doomed. 

People were fighting the fire wherever they 
could get a chance. The fight needed a head, 
and now that Mr. Prentiss had satisfied or 
thought that he had satisfied himself about 
the money in the counting-room, he was at 
liberty to concentrate all .his thoughts, all his 
energies, in plans for the fighting of the fire. 
He at once supplied the fight with a head. 
He impressed into service as soon as possible, 
every vessel in the neighborhood that would 
hold water and also everybody who could 
carry water. Three men he put on the roof 
of the shed, and three at the base of the wall, 
and from these went lines of men, boys and 
also women and girls to two wells, one in the 
factory-yard and the other in the Jones-yard. 

Now, boys,” shouted Mr. Prentiss to his 
heterogeneous forces, “ work away ! ” 

It was splash, splash, splash,” along the 
surface of the roof of the shed and along its 


244 TOO LATE FOR THE TlDE-MlLL. 

side, and several times, the men who occupied 
the exposed points in the lines of attack, 
asked to be splashed also, so great was the 
heat. 

Mr. Prentiss sent to his home and secured 
all the blankets there. These were spread over 
threatened portions of the roof or sides of the 
shed, and thoroughly saturated with water. 
Steadily, the fire was resisted. Little by little 
the flames in the grove lowered the defiant 
banners of scarlet they had raised. 

“ Every minute, boys," said Mr. Prentiss, 
“ the fire has less to feed on. Hold your 
ground!" 

Bravely the ground was held — in other words 
the shed was defended and drenched — and the 
fire having sensibly subsided in the burn- 
ing grove, the danger was declared to be 
past. 

Mr. Prentiss was as much relieved as if a 
burden of hundreds of pounds that had been 
crushing hirn, were suddenly thrown ofl". He 
went up to the people and personally thanked 
them. 

“ Ah, Will," he said to Will Fairfax, who 
had manfully stood and toiled in one of the 
perspiring lines of firemen, “ I am exceedingly 
obliged to you." 


THE FIRE. 245 

“And, True,” he said to True Winthrop, 
“you have helped me very much.” 

Then he added to himself, “ Perhaps the 
mystery of your coming to Barkton is solved, 
and you are here to save my factory.” 

All which only showed how little Mr. Pren- 
tiss understood the real reason of True Win- 
throp’s appearance in Barkton. Mr. Prentiss 
emphatically expressed his indebtedness to 
others. To increase his satisfaction, there was 
a drop of water that suddenly, softly spattered 
his face when he lifted his' hat and wiped his 
forehead. Then he felt another mild spatter 
and a third. 

“ Why,” he asked, looking up into a black 
sky, “ wh}', is this rain ? ” 

Yes, it was the rain sometimes dreaded when 
it swells and roars in the freshet, but so wel- 
come when the flowers are thirsty and the 
crops languish, and to-night so acceptable when 
it came down faster and thicker, rebuking the 
flames, beating them down lower and lower, 
till there was only a blackening, sputtering 
heap, and finally all was dark around the fac- 
tory, the rain and the night having everything 
their own way. 

“ A no’theast storm settin’ in ! ” remarked 
Uncle Ben. “ Glad to see it ! ” 


246 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

This “ no’theast storm ” was not the only 
rough wind that had set in. One was about 
to blow in Uncle Ben’s own household, that 
would make aching hearts. 


CHAPTER XIX. 


THE CHASE. 

dear!” exclaimed Dot Fairfax, 
sighing from a deep place in her heart. 

She had been absent a fortnight, visiting a 
relative, and came home the afternoon follow- 
ing the fire to learn of the great disaster 
that had been threatened, of the loss of the 
money which Mr. Prentiss discovered long be- 
fore morning, of the rough assault upon Mr. 
Shattuck who was now at home and able to 
say something for himself, of the arrest of Billy 
Jones for the theft because as was alleged, he 
could not satisfactorily prove his innocence, and 
then of the departure of her brother Will with 
True Winthrop, that very day, on some kind of 
a vacation trip. She was sorry that the com- 
pany had lost any money, sorry that Billy 
Jones had been charged w'ith theft, but was it 
any wonder that she felt most severely what 
was a personal disappointment in the depart- 
ure of her bi other ? 


247 


248 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“ Will said he would leave a note for you on 
his table,” remarked Mrs. Shattuck. Dot 
eagerly found and read it. The note breathed 
a cold spirit as if Will knew he was doing a 
thing that would displease her. He only said 
that he was going off with True, and he would 
write when he reached the place where they 
might be going. 

“ Might be ? ” repeated Dot. “ Then they 
don’t certainly know where they are going. I 
know this one thing. I will find out what 
time they left here, and if I can overtake them, 
I will.” 

“ Small but spunky,” had been Will’s descrip- 
tion of his sister to a friend. Dot learned that 
when True and Will left, they were afraid they 
might be late for the forenoon train, and if 
tardy they could not take another until the 
edge of evening. 

“Four o’clock!” she murmured. “Rain- 
ing, and the station three miles away ! I have 
no money to pay for a team, and I won’t 
ask any one to carry me over, and I will 
walk.” 

She muffled herself in her water proof, but 
before leaving her room, she fell on her knees. 
She was so weary at heart, she was so consci- 
ous of loneliness and helplessness, that she 


THE CHASE. 249 

eagerly reached out her arms to that Saviour 
who once in loneliness and helplessness 
stretched out his arms upon the cross. 

“ Sympathy there ! ’’ she sobbed, and it 
seemed as if God’s pity embodied in the form 
of Christ, reached down to her and whispered 
in her ear its voice of compassion, and threw 
about her its arm of strength. When she 
stepped out into the beating rain, she knew 
she would not go alone. Her preparations 
had been hasty and her exit was hasty. 

“ Now, I'll be off,” she said. 

No one of the Shattuck family was at the 
windows to see her leave, and for this she was 
grateful. 

“ I would like to go and get back and not be 
missed by the Shattucks, if possible,” she rea- 
soned. “ Will won’t care to have people ' 
know his sister brought him back.” 

Glad to slip away unnoticed by the family, 
she turned in the direction of the railroad 
station, three miles away. The rain beat 
down heavily, one of those rains that first 
seem to come at you and then to go through 
you. The autumn torches kindled among the 
maples, every moment threatened to shine 
with diminished color amid the wild assaults 
of the rain. The wind too, swept in cold gusts 


250 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

out of a gray mist that hung low its folds on 
either side of the road. Dot recalled the day 
when she came to Barkton. This very same 
road was then so impressed ui^on her memory, 
that she could now anticipate some of its fea- 
tures. Like previous acquaintances were the 
clumps of bushes and trees that lined the road. 
She remembered that there were elms whose 
branches stretched over the road, and these 
now swayed like the brandished arms of huge 
giants. There were secluded, dismal nooks 
where the trees met, and here the shadows of 
the afternoon seemed to suddenly deepen into 
those of the night. The little woman trudged 
on stubbornly, bravely. 

When she saw the station, it was after five. 
Lights flashed out of its low windows, for the 
night was setting in early. The leaning tele- 
graph poles looked as if they would like to 
give up the struggle against the assailing storm 
and lie down in a humble posture with the 
grass and the weeds and the low bushes about 
the station. The black rails stretching before 
the door had a useless air, as if for no purpose 
had they'come out of the Land of Somewhere, 
and were therefore reaching on to end in the 
Land of Nowhere. Dot looked in at the win- 
dows of the low shabby waiting-room for 


THE CHASE. 2$ I 

“ gents,” and quickly shrank back into the rain 
and the gathering shadows. 

“ True and Will ! ” she exclaimed. “ There 
they are ! They are reading. They have 
been waiting here all this time.” 

It had been a very discontented waiting, in- 
terrupted only by a noon-call at a neighboring 
farm-house for a bowl of bread and milk. The 
window was not very tight, and it allowed the 
sound of True’s voice to escape. 

“Oh dear! This is a hateful day! Train 
though will be here soon,” was True’s exclama- 
tion that reached Dot’s ear. “ I am going out 
to walk on the platform a few minutes.” 

While he passed out of the station by one 
door. Dot entered another and confronted her 
brother. 

“Will!” she s'aid, trying to speak as com- 
posedly and naturally as possible. “ How do 
you do ? You were not going off without say- 
ing good-bye to me ? ” 

At the same time that she spoke, she held 
out her hand. Will sprang back. “You 
here? ” he said. He was silent then. 

“ Oh Dot ! ” he began again, trying not to 
appear embarrassed. “ Glad — to see you. 
Why, little g-g-gal, how did you get over ? ” 

“ (Dh, I walked.” 


252 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“ What a girl you are to walk.” 

“ Will,” she said, as he looked down into the 
beautiful features that seemed to express a 
character irresolute and yielding, but which he 
knew had something of the firmness of granite, 
“ I don’t want to interfere with your vacation- 
plans, but I don’t want to see my brother asso- 
ciating with Winthrop.” 

“ Oh there ! ” he cried pettishly. '' It is 
only a little vacation-trip, and I expect to make 
it bring me in a little business.” 

“Business! Beware of business with True 
Winthrop ! ” 

“ What do you know about True Winthrop’s 
business transactions ? ” 

Should she tell him of those days of past 
shame, when in a low groggery she had 
pleaded with this same True Winthrop not to 
sell liquor to her father? True had never in 
Barkton given her to understand that he re- 
membered her, and perhaps he had forgotten 
a transaction that is not unusual in such dens 
of wickedness. Should she bring it up now in 
Will’s presence to arouse Will’s indignation ? 
The exposure that might save the son would 
dishonor the name of the father. She hesi- 
tated. She had another weapon she could use, 
a weapon too that would not cut the hands 


THE CHASE. 253 

of the party wielding it. She would try 
this. 

“There, Will! See this!” she exclaimed. 
She held up a picture peculiarly labeled. 

“ Will, while I was away lately, my friends 
took me into a police station. They had a 
rogues’ gallery there. I asked them to let me 
take a copy of this.” 

It was True Winthrop’s face. Attached to 
it was the title “ rogues’ gallery.” 

Will walked up and down the waiting-room, 
looking at the picture with its uncomplimen- 
tary title, and shaking his head in surprise.” 

“ That Will’s bag?” thought Dot, noticing 
a small travelling bag on a bench. Impressed 
with the conviction that it must be Will’s prop- 
erty, she hastily raised it, but seeing on It the 
initials “ T. W.,’’ as quickly dropped it. 

“What’s that?” she said. Her ear had 
caught a sharp clink inside the bag. 

The door suddenly opened and True rushed 
up to the bag. 

“Careless in me to leave my things round ! ” 
he exclaimed. In his anxiety to make sure of 
his property, he had failed to notice Dot. He 
now stared at her almost rudely, as if he 
anticipated an interference with his plans. 

“ Good evening,” he said coldly. 


254 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“ Good evening, Mr. Winthrop,” replied 
Dot. She did not add this assertion, but she 
looked it, every letter of it ; “You see I am 
here, Mr. Winthrop.” 

Yes, and her presence made him very un- 
easy. Will was at the other end of the room, 
striding away gloomily, and intently looking 
at the picture in his hand. 

“Will!” shouted True, now holding up 
a glove.” “ Have you seen the mate of 
this ? ” 

Dot’s sharp, bright eyes took a picture of 
this glove. Somehow, the object fascinated 
her attention and riveted the look fastened 
upon it. The glove was one of brown woolen. 
It was very much worn at the finger-tips. 

“A brown woolen glove and all broken away 
at the fingers’ ends ! ” thought Dot, making 
as minute an examination of the object as if 
she had been specially commissioned to do this 
thing. 

Have you seen the mate of this, I say?” 
called out its owner in a voice offensive for its 
tone of command. 

“ I havn’t seen your glove,” said Will care- 
lessly. “ See here, though! True, I have got 
your picture, havn’t I ? ” 

Will held out the copy of True’s face, but 


THE CHASE. 


255 

covered with his hand the uncomplimentary 
title at the top. 

Supposing it is ? Where did you get it ? ” 
asked True. 

Will now uncovered the label at the top ! 
A look of fiendish hate was flashed out of 
True’s black eyes, and he would have snatched 
the picture away, but Dot’s eyes were upon 
him, ready to follow every movement and even 
to anticipate it, for her nimble fingers quickly 
covered the picture, and she quietly, triumph- 
antly said, ‘‘That picture is mine, Mr. Win- 
throp ! You can’t have it, though you allow 
it is your likeness.” 

“ Where did you get that ? roared True. 

“ Out of a ‘ rogues’ gallery in a police sta- 
tion, where you are not forgotten, be assured,” 
said Dot. She had now transferred the pic- 
ture to her pocket. 

“ Toot-t-t-t ! ” 

It was a shriek from the whistle of the 
locomotive that was rushing up to the station 
the train that might bear Will away with his 
master. True Winthrop. It was a scene of 
vivid interest in the waiting-room. There 
stood little Dot, her dark, blue eyes bent upon 
True and flashing out defiance. There was 
Will, his handsome features expressive of won- 


256 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

der, but no longer of indecision. And there 
was True Winthrop. He was attempting a 
look of composure, but it was like the violence 
of a thunder-cloud trying to subside into the 
peace of a fair weather sunset-sky. 

“Nonsense!” he said. “Nonsense, Will! 
It’s only somebody that looks like me. Get 
your traps and come aboard ! I can explain it 
all.” 

Boom-m-m-m ! 

The train was roaring up to the station. 

“ Good-bye ! ” said Will, “ I am not going. 
I’ll let my travelling bag stay down there in 
the corner where I left it.” 

“ All aboard ! ” shouted a railroad official 
dressed like a conductor, and thrusting his 
head inside the door of the waiting-room. 

“ Come, Will ! Don’t be a fool ! ” cried 
True, hurrying toward the door. As he moved 
away, hastily grasping his bag, Dot thought 
she heard again a sharp, suspicious clink. Will 
was shaking his head, clasping his hands be- 
hind his back. 

“ I can’t go with the person in that picture,” 
called out Will. The beH of the locomotive 
was now ringing a violent, “ Come aboard ! 
Come aboard! Ding — ding — ding ! ” 

“ Do you mean to say that is my picture ?” 


THE CHASE. 257 

angrily shouted True, stepping back into the 
room, but leaving the door open. 

“ Yes, sir,” said Dot, stepping forward 
promptly. 

“ Train’s er-goin’ ! ” shrieked a boy who was 
standing on the platform outside the door. 

“ I’ll — I’ll — ” shouted True brandishing his 
unoccupied fist, and springing outside. What 
it was that True would or would not do. Will 
and Dot were unable to learn, for True was 
obliged to make for the cars a rush so pre- 
cipitate, that he could not be heard. Will 
and Dot hastened to the door, and saw True 
clinging to the rail of the rear platform of the 
last train, drawing himself up the steps as 
quickly as possible. Then amid the rattle and 
roar 'and bell-ringing, he was swiftly borne 
away. 

Oh thank God ! ” ejaculated Dot, clasping 
her hands and looking up. Will did not see 
her. He was trying to recover from his be- 
wilderment, and realize that vacation-plans had 
been suddenly, seriously interrupted. 

“ Well, Dot,” he said, turning toward her, 
“ I guess you did a good thing then. I did’nt 
dare think it of True, and I hated to turn my 
back on him, but I guess you were right.” 

“ Don’t you suppose. Will, I hated to inter- 
17 


258 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

rupt my brother’s plans? But something had 
to be done.” 

“ Spunky little gal ! ” said Will, looking 
down in the old affectionate way. “ You 
wouldn’t think she could do such things. Well, 
we will go.” 

He was recovering from his disappointment 
with that suddenness of change in his feelings 
so natural to him, and permitted Dot to lead 
him out of the station. Apparently, he led, 
but it was Dot in reality. 

There is no stage at this time. Dot.” 

“ Don’t want any. Will. I feel that I could 
walk ten miles.” 

“ When we get to the corner where the mill- 
road, as they call it, joins ours, we may meet 
an express-team.” 

“ I don’t care whether we do or not. I feel 
strong enough, Will, to pull the team if the 
horses should give out.” 

She looked up into his face with an expres- 
sion of joy and triumph, and he looked down, 
this big, protecting brother, and said in his 
patronizing fashion, “ What a great, strong 
Dot I” 

When in their walk back, they came to the 
corner of the mill-road, no rattling wheels of 
any express-team could be heard as they 


THE CHASE. 259 

looked off into the darkness and intently lis- 
tened. 

“ I am just as well pleased, and better satis- 
fied to have it so,” thought Dot. “ I can send 
Will home alone now. He would feel terri- 
bly if anybody knew I brought him back.” 

When they reached the Shattucks’, she said, 
“ You just go in, Will — need not say anything 
about me — and 1 will come soon.” 

A little later, Mrs. Shattuck found Will in 
his room, packed away in a home-upholstered 
rocking chair, and musing before an open fire. 

“You got back. Will?” she inquired. “I 
thought you had left on a vacation-trip.” 

“ Concluded to give it up, Mrs. Shattuck.” 

“ And here am I ! ” said Dot, pushing open 
the door and holding out to Mrs. Shattuck a 
letter. “ I found that in the post-office.” 

“ Why, where have you been ? Seems to me 
it took you some time to bring that from the 
post-office.” 

“ Here I am ! ” said Dot, and then she went 
hastily up-stairs. 

“ Arvie ! ” she called when on the threshold 
of the door of her chamber. 

There was no answer. 

“ I am glad to be alone,” thought Dot, as 
she entered. The room was not wholly dark. 


26 o too late for the tide-mill. 


for the last of an open fire mildly glowed on 
the hearth. Dot removed her wet clothes and 
then sat down before the fire, crouching on the 
broad hearth. She covered her face with her 
hands. She cried. She prayed, and as she 
heard the rain splashing down, thanked God 
that her brother was not in the companionship 
of one around whose soul raged a storm of 
evil passions worse than any violence in na- 
ture. 


CHAPTER XX. 


THE FINGER MARKS IN THE DUST. 

<< ^ I ^ HEY look queer, don’t they, Dot? ” 

Jl “ They do, Mr. Shattuck.” 

The young lady and the carpenter were in- 
specting a mysterious print in the dust on the 
sill of that window through which that late 
burglar had' entered the office of the factory. 

“See here! What do they look like?” 
asked Mr. Shattuck. “ Wrong-doing is sure to 
leave its track behind.” 

“ Does it, so that you can see it ? That is 
quite a nice point, Mr. Shattuck. I think all 
who have to hunt out evil •would be glad to 
have it so, and have a clear track to hunt by. 
Does mischief make its mark so that you can 
detect the marker ? ” 

“ I guess I shall have to state that thing 
again, Dot. Wrong does leave a mark some- 
where in the character. On the outside it is 
not always seen and detected, I suppose — but 
I know it is within.” 

261 


262 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

Yes, the wrong-doer always leaves his mark 
behind him. Men may not see it, and so track 
the wrong to its source. There is the print of 
evil deeds, however, made on the character. 
It is a more permanent impress and far sadder 
than any left on material things, and these 
prints the eye of God sees readily though men’s 
vision may not. 

Dot stooped so as to see the dust-marks in 
the range of the light falling through the win- 
dow. 

“ Looks like a hand, Mr. Shattuck.” 

“ Does it. Dot ? Let me see. My eyes are 
getting old. Not so sharp as yours.” 

Mr. Shattuck now squinted at the print on 
the sill. 

“ I don’t know but you are right. Let’s get 
Mr. Prentiss here. I will call him in. He is 
out on the door-steps.” 

Mr. Prentiss came, looked, and corroborated 
the opinion of the others. 

“ Now if we could only find a hand that 
would fit that impression,” said Mr. Prentiss, 
“ it would be conclusive.” 

“ It would not do to ask some people to try 
their hand here,” said Mr. Shattuck. “ But I 
don’t believe the hand of Billy Jones would fit. 
I can’t think Billy is guilty.” 


THE FINGER MARKS IN THE DUST. 263 

“ Get him,” suggested the superintendent. 

Poor Billy was, after his arrest, released on 
bail which was readily furnished, and was wan- 
dering about, protesting his innocence and yet 
grieved to find himself in the shadow of a 
serious suspicion. He was a popular young fel- 
low, had been interested in the special services 
at the school-house, and there were very few 
who cared to see his good reputation blotted 
with a crime like that involved in the charge. 
There were those in Barkton though, who were 
not unwilling to see a stain on the character of 
one interested in the services at the school- 
house. 

“Billy,” said Dot, “wouldn’t you like to 
lay your hand in some finger prints on the 
window-sill in the office ? ” 

“You found some? Just give me a chance 
to try them ! ” cried Billy eagerly. “ Oh Dot, 
there’s a bottom to this trouble we haven’t 
touched yet ! The right man, and he is a 
wrong man at the same time, will yet be 
found.” 

“ I think so, Billy. You come and try ! ” 

What an anxious trial of Billy s hand ! A 
group of curious spectators surrounded him. 
There were Mr. Prentiss, Mr. Shattuck, Tim 
and May Shattuck, Dot, and Will, and Arvie, 


264 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. ' 

and several workmen from the factory. All 
strained their eyes, bending forward to catch 
as near and good a look as possible. Billy 
stretched his fingers of either hand along the 
lines of the impression in the dust. The 
thumb was too small each time, so were the 
forefingers, every finger indeed ! 

“ It’s not a fit ! ” cried Arvie. 

That is so ! ” said Mr. Shattuck. 

A shout went up from the party, a glad 
hurrah. 

“ Billy,” said Mr. Prentiss, “ I accept this 
testimony, and I withdraw all my charges and 
beg your pardon.” 

‘‘You needn’t beg anything, Mr. Prentiss. 
You did what you thought was right.” 

All this time of the extension of con- 
gratulations to Billy by those present. Dot 
was bending down over the print in the 
dust. 

“ Either a big hand,” she said to Will 
P'airfax, “ or the person might have had 
on gloves. Will.” 

“You are right, little gal, and the ends of 
the fingers look broken, don’t they ? ” 

“ I think they do.” 

At many supper-tables that night, there 
were earnest discussions about the marks in 


THE FINGER MARKS IN THE DUST. 265 

the dust, to whom they might belong, and 
whether the printer of this cabalistic sign 
would ever be found out. 

Dot Fairfax after tea had gone to her 
brother’s room. They were talking before the 
open fire, when the door bell pulled, and 
somebody said that he had a package for Will. 
It was the expressman, and he handed Will a 
little package, saying it was from the agent of 
the railroad station, and that the latter had 
sent a glove which had been picked up and he 
“ thought it might belong to William Fairfax, 
who had been over at the station, for he 
couldn’t find out that it belonged to anyone 
about there.” 

“True Winthrop’s missing glove!” ex- 
claimed Dot, when she and Will were alone 
and had opened the package. 

“ I guess you are right. Dot,” said Will. 
The glove had been dropped on the table. 
There it lay, Dot recoiling from it as if it were 
a venomous reptile whose limbs were hidden 
in a sheath of brown woolen, and any moment 
the fingers might crook into claws and the 
thing begin to crawl. 

“ I know what I would like to do,” said Dot, 
“ and. Will, if you will let me, I will do it 
riQw, May I take the glove ? ” 


266 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“ What is it } ” he replied, interested in the 
“ little gal’s ” energy. 

Wrap that thing up and lend it to me for 
this evening.” 

“What is little gal up to now? Well, you 
may have it.” 

When Tim and Mr. Shattuck went that 
evening to the factory to do an item of night- 
work, Dot and Dot’s budget went with them. 
When they reached the counting-room, they 
found Mr. Prentiss there. 

“ Mr. Prentiss,” said Tim,” if you are not 
tired of looking at those dust-marks, please 
try this thing and see if it’s a fit.” 

Out of its wrapper came the glove, and a 
curious ring of four bent over the window- 
sill. 

“The thumb fits!” said Mr. Prentiss. 
“ This finger too — that — one — the dust is get- 
ting rubbed out, but I just took the precaution 
to pencil about it — look I That fills the bill, I 
think.” 

“ Yes, yes ! ” said Dot. 

There lay the glove filling out the form of 
the impression. It seemed as if a human hand 
would show itself occupying the glove, and 
behind would be a human arm and above — 
whose face would it be ? 


THE FINGER MARKS IN THE DUST. 26/ 

“ Tlie ends of the fingers of this glove are 
worn off/’ said Tim, “and you look at the 
print and see — ” 

“ If the ends of the fingers there are broken 
off? I ran my pencil about the marks, and 
the edges are not very even. It’s a good fit ! 
Whose glove is it ! ” asked Mr. Prentiss. 

“ True Winthrop’s,” said Dot. 

■ “True Winthrop!” said Mr. Prentiss, who 
began to get a new idea on the subject of the 
reason why True Winthrop came to Bark- 
ton. 

“PLUNDER!” was the motive-word 
whose letters Mr. Prentiss began to read amid 
the doings of True Winthrop. 

“ But,” said Mr. Prentiss, “ is there any 
other evidence it was True ! ” 

“ He is about Billy Jones’ size, so that I 
thought it was Billy you see,” remarked Mr. 
Shattuck, “the time the counting-room was 
entered.” 

“ I must see Will Fairfax, if I can,” asserted 
Mr. Prentiss. 

“ He is at home,” said Dot. 

“ Tim, I want you to come up to your 
house with me. Mr. Shattuck, you might fin- 
ish your job, and come soon as you can,” said 
Mr. Prentiss. 


268 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

News in a country-place seems at times to 
fly about as quick as the telegraph will carry 
it in the city. Tim went to the post-oflice 
before going home, and talking there about the 
robbery, simply said a glove had turned up 
that was interesting. This trivial, indefinite 
remark was enough for the construction of a 
great variety of rumors that went as if winged 
all over town. One of those winged rumors 
reached Uncle Ben Bowler. He was so dis- 
quieted, he went at once to the home of the 
Shattucks, to pack away in his conversation- 
quiver any arrows that might be shot as 
missiles elsewhere in defence of his beloved 
grandson, Billy. 

When Mr. Prentiss, Tim and Dot entered the 
Shattuck sitting-room, they found a group 
very anxious to talk with them. 

The astonished circle talked over the news 
eagerly. 

“Tim, have you any idea where True is?” 
asked Mr. Prentiss. 

“ Dot here told me that Will said True did 
not exactly know where he was going, but 
Seaton had been talked of as one place. Now, 
I think of it, he in a talk once said he was 
very much interested in the place,” replied 
Tim. 


THE FINGER MARKS IN THE DUST. 269 

“ I have an idee,” said Uncle Ben, his head 
shaking as if to intensify his speech, “ if he 
gets there, I have an idee he will want to use 
a yaller boat I once had an adventure in, 
’cause — ’cause — ” 

“ What ? ” asked Mr. Prentiss, nervously. 

“ ’Cause he seemed to be much interested 
in it when I spoke of it.” 

Dot Fairfax here said she would like to have 
“ True’s bag ” examined. 

“ Why ! ” asked Mr. Prentiss. 

“ Oh, I have my suspicions,” said Dot. 
She was not ready to say she had lifted True’s 
bag at the station, and had been suspicious of 
the money-like clink "she heard, for it would 
have been a confession of her visit to the sta- 
tion. She could not get rid of the conviction 
that True was the thief. 

“ I want to see Will Fairfax,” said Mr. 
Prentiss, rising to make a call on Will, who 
was in his room,” and then I want to see you 
again, Tim.” 

Mr. Prentiss learned nothing new from Will, 
who had not been admitted by True to any 
share in his accomplishments or plans. True 
took Will with him as an agreeable companion, 
and because it might be convenient to use one 
who was so plastic to any manipulator’s touch. 


2/0 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“ Tim,” said Mr. Prentiss, who had formed 
a decision with his characteristic promptness, 
and now took the young man aside, “ I start 
in the morning for Seaton. I shall take one 
of the town constables with me, and I want 
you to go as a guide about Seaton with me. 
Don’t tell anyone save your father and mother, 
and tell them to keep still, for our plans might 
leak out and some one of True’s friends might 
get hold of them and send him word. We go 
in the morning, the first train. I will call for 
you.” 

will go, sir.” 

Mr. Prentiss said something else. Tim 
wanted to open a small grocery store. He 
had asked Mr. Prentiss to be one of two 
friends to advance money enough for this 
venture. Mr. Prentiss told Tim that the 
stolen money was really his, and only nomi- 
nally the factory’s. He had purposed to lend 
it to the factory. When stolen, it was still 
his money. 

“ Tim, you wanted some money. I feel 
poor, but if I recover the amount of the 
theft, or pretty near it, I will let you have 
what you asked for that you might open 
store.” 

What an air-castle now towered in the Shat- 


THE FINGER MARKS IN THE DUST. 2/1 

tuck thought ! Tim, a rising young mer- 
chant ! What an opportunity ! Much was 
said about it at home. If Mr. Prentiss helped, 
another man would also aid, and Tim would 
be a great merchant. 


CHAPTER XXL 


THE OLD TIDE-MILL AGAIN. 

<< A 70U can smell the sea-weed here,” ob- 
j[ served one of a party of three, riding 
one afternoon in a wagon along a Seaton road 
leading to the shore of the ocean. The 
speaker was Barnabas Locke, constable. 

“ And there’s the old tide-mill, Mr. Prentiss ! 
How natural it looks ! ” said another, even 
Tim Shattuck. 

Mr. Prentiss had been in a silent mood. 
After leaving the steam cars, Mr. Prentiss 
wished at once to take a wagon for the last 
stage of their journey. 

“ Let’s get dinner first,” said Tim. 

“ Buy something at the baker’s and eat it by 
the way and push on,” suggested Mr. Prentiss. 

“Hold on!” said Tim, and he carried his 
point. “Take it comfortable,” was Tim’s 
thought. “ The thief is ours ! ” 

“ Lost an hour ! ” Mr. Prentiss kept moodily 
thinking, but when he saw the mill, and a man 
272 


THE OLD TIDE-MILL AGAIN. 273 

in the road, he exclaimed, “ Don’t he look 
like a miller ? ” 

“Exactly!” said the broad-shouldered con- 
stable from Barkton. “ He looks something 
like a bag of meal out walkin’.” 

“ That is David Ransom, the miller, the one 
we think True Winthrop is boarding with, if 
the Seaton people’s stories are to be believed, 
and I guess they are,” said Tim Shattuck. 
“ They are pretty honest down here. I know 
them.” 

“ I hope we sha’n’t be disappointed this 
time,” said Mr. Prentiss. As we came along, 
we telegraphed in, all directions, and gave 
notice of the suspected robber.” 

“You want me to ask David Ransom if he 
knows about True, Mr. Prentiss?” 

“ I would like to have you, Tim.” 

“ How-d’y-do, Mr. Ransom?” called out 
Tim. 

“ Oh Timothy, this you ? Where did you 
come from ! How’s all the folks? 

“ They are all well. We are just from 
Barkton, Mr. Prentiss here, Mr. Locke, and I. 
Mr. Ransom, we want to find a young man 
whom we have tracked down here, and people 
in Seaton say that somebody like him is down 
this way.” 

18 


274 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

‘‘What kind of a lookin’ young man, Tim- 
othy ?” 

“ He has sharp, black eyes, Mr. Ransom — 
sort of look through you and have a lot of 
mischief in them — and he . did not have it 
up in Barkton, but people we ask, say a 
young man like ours has a full beard. Guess 
he is about twenty-five years old, and he is 
not quite so tall as I am, but is built some- 
thing like me.” 

David Ransom had keen gray eyes under 
heavy, overhanging brows, and they were 
directed rapidly toward Mr. Prentiss, Tim, and 
Barnabas, searching the three faces in succes- 
sion. 

“ What’s the young man done that so many 
of you want him all at once ? ” replied David, 
like a soldier skirmishing before the battle 
fully begins. 

“Well, Mr. Ransom, we can trust you,” 
said Tim. “You are not the man to harbor a 
thief?” ' 

“ Why, no,” said David, whose sentiments 
were all on the side of the enforcement of 
laws against dishonesty. He was now ready 
to give what information he could. “ Are you 
after a thief ? ” 

“ After a man who has carried off about a 


THE OLD TIDE-MILL AGAIN. 2/5 

thousand dollars in cash, ’ said Mr. Prentiss, 
“clean cash.” 

“ You don’t say ! Well ! There has been a 
young fellow a-boardin’ for a few days at my 
house. His eyes are black, and I must say 
I don’t like ’em. He has a full beard, big 
one.” 

“ Did he say where he hailed from 7 ” in- 
quired Barnabas. 

“ Not a syllable ! That’s the mystery. 
Don’t seem to come from anywhar, or doin’ 
anything, and said he came to get a leetle 
rest. He has paid me all up and thought he 
might go to-day.” 

“ Where is he now ? ” asked Mr. Prentiss. 

“ He took his traps and wanted to go on the 
water awhile — ” 

“ Didn’t he leave anything at your house?” 
said Tim. 

“ Nothin’. There’s a leetle yaller boat 
down at the mill he took a shine to — ” 

“ Uncle Ben Bowler’s boat,” explained Tim. 
“ What he used to have, I mean.” 

“ That’s the one. Mine now for some 
time.” 

“ Then you think he may have left for 
good, that is, left your house ?” said Mr. Pren- 
tiss. 


276 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

- I do.” 

“ And he has now gone off in that boat ? ” 
Without doubt ! Can’t help sayin’ if you 
had come an hour ago, I was at the mill with 
that ere chap. You might have nabbed him 
there.” 

“An hour! O Timothy!” said Mr. Pren- 
tiss. “ Sorry ! ” Tim was sorry too. The 
money needed for that grand store would 
then probably have been forthcoming in part, 
and this part would have fetched the other 
that was desired. 

“Where did you tie that boat?” asked 
Ransom. 

“ Down at the mill, below the gates. If he 
went off in the boat and as I said, I think he 
doubtless did, he will come back to the 
mill.” 

“We will move on the mill,” said Com- 
mander Locke. “ Could you go down. Square 
Ransom ? ” 

“ Oh yes,” said the miller, tickled with this 
honorary title. 

The “ Square ” offered to “ jump in be- 
hind,” and the Law’s imposing force of four 
all moved away in the wagon. It was a clear 
autumn day. A northwest wind had taken its 
vigorous broom to the sky and cleaned it of 


THE OLD TIDE-MILL AGAIN. 277 

the clouds. Then it had swept the sea free 
from mist, so that the waves ran blue and 
sharp out to a distinct horizon-edge. Above 
those rows of blue waves, against that bright 
sky, rose the black walls of the old tide-mill. 
The flats beyond it were now covered with the 
insweeping tide, and under a bridge leading up 
to the door of the mill, swiftly rushed the cool, 
green sea-water into the mill-pond with its 
rusty, grassy edges. The wagon-load of four 
men halted on the bridge. 

“ If that boatman should see us, he might 
suspect suthin’, square,” said Commander 
Locke. 

‘‘ We can tie up on this side of the- mill, 
by the door,” suggested the new-titled 
“ square.” 

“ Nobody will see us here from the river,” 
said Tim. 

“ Wonder where that yaller boat is,” re- 
marked the commander. “Do you see it, 
square ? ” 

“I don’t. It is not where I gin’rally keep 
it, and it is gone out on the river. You 
all come inside and we will git a glass and 
look out of a rear winder.” 

From a window in the rear of the mill, the 
party now looked out upon the water pouring 


2/8 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

in from the ocean to fill the mill-pond. Each 
one took his turn and put himself at the end 
of David Ransom’s spy glass and looked in the 
direction of the mouth of the river which near 
the mill became a creek. 

I see the boat and a man in it,” said the 
miller, and the rest of the party confirmed this 
opinion. The boat had been recently painted, 
and the shade of lively yellow it displayed and 
the black form of its occupant were in sharp 
contrast with the bright blue of the ocean. 

“ I can see it quite well with the naked eye,” 
said Tim. 

“The boat is coming in,” added the mil- 
ler. 

“ Let us have a council of war,” said Com- 
mander Locke. “Let me see ; she will tie up 
at the mill, and does he then come up through 
the buildin’, or how ? ” 

“ Come down to the landin’,” said the 
miller. “ I’ll show ye.” 

They all hurried down stairs, and by way of 
a little door, stepped out upon a platform to 
which the boat was usually moored. 

“ Tsee now,” said Mr. Prentiss. “He must 
go into the mill to get out upon the bridge 
and go home or wherever he does go next. 
Then I propose that some one close the out- 


THE OLD TIDE-MILL AGAIN. 279 

side door leading out upon the bridge and 
stand guard there. When True has passed in 
here a second man watch his chance and close 
this door down here. The other two of us can 
be inside and follow our man up and corner 
him.” 

“ Perhaps our friend, the square, will see 
that the outer door above is closed and jest 
guarded inside,” said Commander Locke. 
This post of honor was acceptable to the 
“ square.” 

“ And, Tim, when our man is fairly in the 
trap, will you see that this door down here is 
closed and stay on guard?’’ 

“ I will, Barnabas.” 

“ Then Mr. Prentiss, you and me will foller 
the young man up and pleasantly suggest to 
him that he had better go home with us.” 

“ Do you ’spose he will show fight ?” asked 
David, the miller. He looks ugly, some- 
times. My wife has said that she has been 
awful scat of him.” 

“ If he should show fight, the Law will look 
after him,” and Barnabas as he said this, 
looked as if he were the very embodiment 
of the majesty of the Law, as if its strength 
also in the shape of numberless “billies” and 
a Gatling gun were concealed within him. 


28 o too late for the tide-mill. 


He soon posted his forces, for the miller 
reported that the “ yaller boat ” was but a 
leetle way from the mill.” Barnabas con- 
sidered the horse and wagon a part of his 
small army, and they were so located in front 
of the building that they could not possibly 
be seen by anyone coming by water to the 
mill. The miller was stationed inside the 
door above. This first had been locked, 
Tim was near the platform door but hidden by 
the shadows of a corner, ready to close this 
door as soon as True had entered. Barnabas 
and Mr. Prentiss were ready to spring out 
of another corner and seize the thief. 

“ Let’s have an understandin’,” added Bar- 
nabas. “ Square, you and Tim, don’t stray so 
far from your doors but that you can git to 
them and look after them and anybody who 
comes to them — in a flash ! Jest remember; 
your place is the doors — unless we should call 
to you. Let me see ! Any winders on these 
lower floors where an enterprisin’ man could 
drop out and so run off ? ” 

“ They all open on sides of the mill 
where the water is, exceptin’ one in front. 
That is near my door. It is in the countin’- 
room. There is a nail over it and I’ll look 
after it.” 


THE OLD TIDE-MILL AGAIN. 


281 


“We are all ready then,” said the valiant 
commander of these mighty forces of the Law. 
“ We will go to our corners and keep still as 
kittens. I guess we will trap our man. If we 
had a boat, we would tackle him on the water. 
We havn’t, and we must trap him here.” This 
eminent strategist shook his head in great satis- 
faction. 

The old mill as “a trap ” did not look at all 
different from the old mill doing service in the 
grinding of corn. There it stood, its roof 
stretching quietly up into the sunshine, while 
around the base of its walls peacefully rippled 
the water stealing in from the ocean. True, 
there was an open door at the platform and a 
closed door on the bridge-side of the mill, and 
this might suggest traps which are notorious 
for having one door by which you can enter 
but there is no provision for going out. That 
bridge-door though was always shut when the 
grinding was over, and that platform-door 
naturally would be open when anybody might 
be on the water using the boat generally 
moored there. This innocent aspect the mill 
preserved as the party in the boat came up the 
cr^ek. Tim peeped through a crack in the 
wall near him and could very easily see the 
unsuspecting oarsman. 


282 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“That felt hat is one True Winthrop has 
always worn in cool weather,” thought Tim. 
“ Those are his shoulders, and he wears that 
kind of.a coat.” 

“Hist!” said Barnabas in a whispered yet 
sharp tone. “ Do you see him, Tim ? ” 

“ He is very near,” replied Tim softly. “ I 
hear his oars.” 

The measured click of the oars could be dis- 
tinctly heard. 

“ True is a very good oarsman,” reflected 
Tim. 

Free from all apprehension, the boatman 
lazily impelled his little craft up to the mill. 
Did any consciousness of ill-gotten gains dis- 
turb him? If so, it did not show itself in his 
manner. He looked up to the sky, down into 
the water, and no shade of anxiety clouded his 
face. “ He is nearer now,” thought Tim. 

The sound of oars dropping in the boat as 
they were shipped, first one and then the 
other, could be heard by those in ambuscade. 
“There is True stepping on the platform,” 
thought Tim. “ He steps heavy. He does 
not suspect anything ; steps sort of careless.” 

Suspect ? This empty-seeming mill, never 
doing anything more serious then the grinding 
of corn, in and out of whose cracks now stole 


THE OLD TIDE-MILL AGAIN. 283 

the wind with a hushed murmur, around 
whose walls the ripples broke in softest echoes, 
along whose roof stretched the silent sunshine 
—who would have ever charged this building 
with participation in a grave plot to nab a 
thief, that it was actually hiding and protect- 
ing four men ready to spring out upon this 
unsuspecting boatman? He coughed. 

“True had a little cough, I remember, the 
other day,” thought Tim. “There he is — 
stepping into the mill. Wonder if he has any 
idea of what we are up to ! It will make an 
interesting story at Barkton.” 

He had not advanced more than ten feet 
into the trap, when Tim rushed from his cor- 
ner, seized the door, slammed and bolted it, 
and then planted his broad shoulders against 
it with the air of one who knows what he has 
done and feels that he has done it well, and it 
shall not be undone. There was the victim 
securely boxed in the trap ! Tim though 
could not see him. There was no window on 
this floor of the mill, which was a story lower 
than that of the counting-room. When the 
door was shut, all light was excluded save 
what might enter ‘ surreptitiously through 
cracks in the walls. 'It was a dingy, gloomy 
place, where timidity would be increased, and 


284 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

where any suspicion of danger would be in- 
tensified into a painful apprehension. The 
moment Tim shut his door, Barnabas and the 
superintendent rushed forward to seize and 
hold a figure that the darkness had quickly 
swallowed up. They heard a startled excla- 
mation. They felt under their anxious hands 
a man’s coat, but it slipped away, and then 
there was a scramble for the stairway. Down 
this came a scanty beam of light in which 
danced the dust disturbed by the men in am- 
buscade. It was a sudden and fearful interfer- 
ence with the intentions of this late arrival by 
that “ yaller boat.” There was the sudden, 
violent slamming of the door ; there was that 
abrupt throwing of the whole place into the 
dark ; there was that assassin-like assault of 
enemies in these dungeon-like quarters ! • It 
was sufficient to disturb the equanimity of 
even a man as boastful of self-control as True 
Winthrop. But who would gain the stairway 
first ? There was a stentorian shout from 
Commander Locke, “ Don’t let him go ! ” and 
then came Mr. Prentiss’ response, “ I’ve got ye, 
villain ! Running off with people’s money ! ” 
And now was raised a fearful clamor, a 
shriek, a yell, ' “ Help-p-p-p ! murder-r-r-r ! 
Oh— oh-.oh! Help-p-p!” 


THE OLD TIDE-MILL AGAIN. 285 


“ Keep still, young man ! There, there, 
quiet ! ” cried Barnabas, trying to hold the 
squirming, groaning fugitive. “ Bring the 
handcuffs, square ! ” he shouted. ' Now carae 
louder appeals: 

“Quick! Handcuffs-s-s ! In the countin’- 
room ! Light, Tim, light! Open that door! 
We’ve got the thief!” 

The “thief” though was tugging and groan- 
ing while no longer shouting When the 
“square” appeared, bringing the handcuffs 
which Barnabas had left up-stairs, he saw by 
the light streaming through the now opened 
platform-door, a very violent struggle at the 
foot of the stairway. 

“ Oh — oh — help-p-p ! ” shouted the prisoner 
frantically, when he caught sight of the miller. 

“ Help — uncle ! ” 

“ Why — why! ” said David — “ who is this ? ” 

Barnabas and Mr. Prentiss now looked into 
the flushed features of their struggling prize, 
and it — was not True Winthrop! 

“ Lem-me 'lone!” said the stranger indig- 
nantly. 

“ Why, this is my nephew James, I do be- 
lieve ! ” said the miller. 

Barnabas and Mr. Prentiss drew off at once. 

“Be g — pardon — I — thought — y o u — w ere 


286 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 


the — thief— we were after!” said Barnabas 
apologetically, panting as hard as the young 
man. 

“ ’Bout as — much — thief — as — you are ! This 
— is — a — great — way to treat — f o 1 k s — spring- 
in’ at — em — in the dark.” 

As he spoke, the young man smoothed down 
his hair, drew on his coat w^iich had been half 
pulled off from his shoulders, and looked 
round for his hat. 

“ Great — way — to treat folks ! I’ll take the 
law — to— ye.” 

“We — are very — sorry — to make a mistake,” 
said the puffing superintendent of the canning 
factory, “ but when you — have lost — almost a 
thousand — dollars — if you get — the wrong — 
person — it is to — be excused.” 

“ Yes,” said Tim stepping up, “ and may be 
you know where the thief is, for you went off 
in his boat. Any way, he went off in a boat 
like yours, I know.” 

The young man was now sobering fast. He 
began to understand what was the nature of 
the mistake. 

“ Well — I didn’t know he was a thief. He 
came to me and said he was going away and 
wanted me to row him over the river in Uncle 
David’s boat, and that is what I did, and I 


THE OLD TIDE-MILL AGAIN. 287 


landed him on the other side, and he walked 
off with his traps.” 

Let it all go — the mistake we made ! ” 
said Mr. Prentiss. “ Tell us how long ago that 
was.” 

The young man gave the time, and added, 
“ I landed him at what we call the ferry- 
ways, where all the boats go.” 

“Can’t we drive round and cut him off?” 
asked Mr, Prentiss. 

“ May be you can,” said the miller. “ It’s 
worth tryin*. You take the first turn to the 
right and go straight ahead till you come to 
four corners. There, the first turn to the right, 
takes you into the ‘ long road ’ runnin’ down 
to the ferry.” 

“ I guess you can ketch him,” said the 
nephew, who was vdisposed to help in spite of 
the rough treatment he had received. “ He 
wanted to take a lunch he said, at the saloon 
near the ferry-ways, and then — I don’t know 
where he goes.” 

“All right! Here is something for you,” 
said Mr. Prentiss, slipping a dollar into the 
hand of nephew James. The nephew grinned, 
and looked as if for another dollar he would 
be willing to stand another seizure. He now 
proffered some advice. 


288 TOO LATE FOR TJHE TIDE-MILL. 

If you ” — he turned toward Tim — “ would 
take my team which is hitched in the yard 
of my house, you might cut in across the 
woods by a cart path, and come out on the 
long road not far from the ferry-ways and — 
and — ” 

“ We would have True Winthrop boxed up 
between two teams, one at the further end and 
the other at the ferry end of long road, would 
we ? ” asked Mr. Prentiss. 

“ That’s it ’zackly,” said the nephew. 

“I’ll go with Tim,” said the miller. 

At once, Mr. Prentiss and Barnabas went to 
the waiting wagon at the door. They sprang 
into it and the wheels rattled away “as if 
a lightning flash were chasing them,” Tim 
said. 

The miller and Tim went to the nephew’s 
house, and there in the yard was a team wait- 
ing for James, who was expecting' to drive off 
in it to a. .grocery store a mile away, but his 
expectation had been interrupted by the re- 
quest of his uncle’s boarder to “ put him 
across the river.” The horse therefore had been 
allowed to remain in harness until the young 
man might return. Tim and the miller jumped 
into the wagon and its wheels turned in the 
direction of the cart-path through the woods. 


THE OLD TIDE-MILL AGAIN. 289 

Mr. Prentiss’ last words to Tim had been, 
Don’t let him skip ! Remember about that 
money!” The would-be merchant said, “ I’m 
good for him ! ” 

19 


CHAPTER XXII. 


TOO LATE THIS TIME. 

B ut that “ boarder,” what was he doing? 

One thing he did was to quietly 
enjoy a lunch at the ferry restaurant. If Tim 
had seen him, he would have said, “ That’s 
like True ! Always did eat like a pig! ” 

It was True, or the Untrue, the thief, who 
ever kept near him the little bag whose clink- 
ing contents Dot Fairfax noticed. When he 
had comfortably lunched at the restaurant, he 
started for the nearest railroad-station, there to 
take the cars. While his pursuers were eagerly 
following up the chase, he was leisurely trudg- 
ing along, enjoying a conversation with him- 
self ; I did not go to Barkton for nothing, 
did I ? I had no special reason for going 
there in the first place, only I thought I might 
pick up a penny somehow in that country- 
place, and I picked it up in small quantities at 
first, but didn’t I find it in a big lump at last, 
ha-ha! I thought if I started a bonfire in 
290 


TOO LATE THIS TIME. 


29 


that heap back of the shed, it would interfere 
with that watch in the counting-room, and give 
me a chance to operate. It did call off Tim 
Shattuck. I guess his father will be careful 
how he interferes with any of my operations 
another time. I don’t think anybody sus- 
pected me at Barkton, for I went to work 
with those at the fire, and old Prentiss thanked 
me ! Wasn’t it done well, getting a little 
money for myself and then helping put out 
the fire ? Ingenious ! Wish though I had 
found the glove I lost. It is all right though. 
If Dot Fairfax, the little booby, hadn’t come 
to the station, I should have had Will for com- 
pany, and if need be, and I was chased, I could 
have slipped some of the plunder into his bag 
and fixed it so that he would have been sus- 
pected and arrested, and I got away. But 
here is Genius, and I guess Genius can manage 
it — I am good for ’em ! I hadn’t made up my 
mind where to come when I left Barkton, but 
thought I would come here until I got my 
bearings, and the old mill with its dark corners 
that I had heard about, I knew would make 
a good hiding-place if I needed one. This 
money in my bag ! Sort of tiresome, carrying 
it round. Wish I could have had a chance to 
change it into bills, and it could have been 


292 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

taken round more easily, but it wouldn’t have 
done to turn it into bills. People would have 
wondered where this chap got so much money, 
ha-ha ! I see by the papers they are tele- 
graphing round an account of the theft, and 
the next time I see a paper, it may mention 
me as a thief and they may venture to describe 
me, but if they suspect me, nobody would 
identify me with this big black beard. I won- 
der if that stupid old miller thought me queer ! 
His wife was timid ; I saw that. I had a good 
time there, and it gave me a chance to think 
what I had better do. Guess I will put for 
Canada. Well, good-bye, Seaton ! ” 

Here he turned to look back upon the river 
and the old tide-mill. “ Good-bye, old river ! 
If Uncle Ben Bowler could have seen me in 
his ‘ leettle yaller boat,’ he would have been 
interested. And the other dear folks at Bark- 
ton, I wonder what they are doing ! Wouldn’t 
old Prentiss like to know who took his money 
and know just where I am, and that blunder- 
ing Barnabas Locke, constable, ha-ha ! That 
fool of a Locke, wouldn’t he make an enter- 
prising character to go after a runaway ! I 
don’t know of another who thinks he knows 
more or can do less, save just one, and that is 
Tim Shattuck, the conceited booby ! Better 


TOO LATE THIS TIME. 


293 


make Tim assistant-constable and send him 
after True Winthrop, say, ha-ha ! Well, 
they wouldn’t know me with this false beard 
on. Hullo! Who is that coming? Some 
folks are driving fast, it seems to me.” 

True saw a wagon in which were two men 
riding at all possible speed. How those wagon 
wheels did clatter at the heels of a galloping 
old horse 1 

“ What does that mean ? ” thought True. 
“ Somebody coming to the ferry-ways, I 
guess. In a hurry to get across probably.” 

True could hear the horse’s hoofs pounding 
out that heavy, hurried gallop. He could see 
one of the men rising in his seat as if to urge 
forward the horse. The team had come so 
much nearer that True concluded one of the 
men had sandy hair and the other had gray 
hair. “One has broad shoulders and the 
other — ^why,” said the staring True, “ I do 
believe they look like Barnabas Locke and old 
Prentiss — I’m far sighted — and whew! They 
must be after — ” True did not definitely in 
his mind shape the thought, but he 

acted it, for he turned upon his heels and ran 
as fast as he could. He was no mean runner. 
He was so good at it that some people charged 
him with having Indian blood. 


294 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“Which way shall I go?” wondered True. 
“ Back, along the road, or shall I turn aside 
and go across the fields?” 

If there had been forests lining the road, 
he might have turned aside and sought a 
shelter in their shadows, but there was no such 
protection offered him. On the left of True, 
there were open fields, pasture-lands exposed 
to the sweep of the strong autumn winds, and 
reaching down to the blue sea. On the right, 
were grazing fields leading to long strips of 
cultivated ground. He might flee down the 
road, he reasoned to himself, and perhaps get 
to the ferry-ways. If he reached the latter, 
he remembered that a boat was there, just one 
craft, moored to a long birch stake a few feet 
from the shore. 

“ Perhaps I can get that boat,” he concluded. 
If successful, he could push off from the 
shore and elude his pursuers. But who would 
win, the so-called “Indian” or his pursuers? 
How those men in pursuit were urging on 
their horse, Barnabas rising in his seat and 
flourishing his whip, thereby holding out a 
continual and audible threat ! The horse 
though was not the swiftest, but old and stu- 
pid. Ahead was the fugitive, one hand grip- 
ping the precious bag containing the money. 


TOO LATE THIS TIME. 295 

the other holding a stout, ordinary travelling- 
bag. 

“ ril drop this big, old travelling bag,” con- 
cluded True. “ They will stop to pick it up 
and so I shall gain time.” 

Away went this piece of property, and 
True’s trick was successful. The wagon was 
quickly pulled up, and Barnabas’ companion 
grabbed the prize. 

“ Barnabas,” shouted Mr. Prentiss in dis- 
gust, “ only his dirty old clothes in it, I 
declare ! The first thing thrown away by a 
man that is running off, is of the least value. 
You can always count on that as true. Might 
have known it ! Go it ! Go it ! ” 

On rattled the wagon, and True as vigor- 
ously stirred up the dust before him. Some- 
thing else was then thrown aside. This was 
a sacrifice not altogether regretted. It was 
True’s big, baggy beard for several days tell- 
ing a lie whose dimensions were much larger 
than those of the. beard. It had been 
gradually working itself loose, and it so 
annoyed True as it slipped about that he 
parted readily with the deception and flung it 
aside, exclaiming, “ There, off with you ! 
Those fools may pick that up if they will ! ” 
Only a big mess of hair! ” said Barnabas. 


296 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“ It is the lie that Winthrop has been luggin’ 
round. Guess we won’t stop for that ! ” 

On galloped the old horse ; forward sprang 
True. 

Next, off went True’s hat. Finally the 
hand bag became an obstacle and True 
argued whether he should drop that. The 
situation was now very desperate. True could 
see the ferry-ways and the waiting boat. 
He could also see a road diverging from the 
main way. 

“ Shall I take that side-road ? ” he queried. 

If he had done so, there would have been 
some interesting results. 

“ A boat ahead is better then a road going 
I don’t — know — where,” concluded True. 

He stuck to the long road and stuck to his 
precious bag. 

“ Oh dear! ” groaned Mr. Prentiss. “ What 
made me get out to pick up that bag of old 
dirty linen? ” 

“ No used to cry over spilt milk, Mr. Pren- 
tiss,” replied Barnabas. “ Git up thar, git up 
thar 1 ” 

“ There’s a road, Barnabas 1 Where’s 
Tim?” 

“ Dunno ! Git up thar ! ” 

“Well,” thought Mr. Prentiss, “if that 


TOO LATE THIS TIME. 


297 


young man don’t fly around, he’ll lose his 
chance to get any money from me for his 
store.” 

And where was Tim ! He ought to have 
been at the old ferry by this time, opening his 
arms to True but hardly in welcome. While 
driving along the cart-path through the woods, 
the wagon hit a stump thrusting itself forward 
into the narrow path, and as the wagon was 
tender and the stump tough, the wagon and 
not the stump gave way ! The vehicle was 
badly hurt. 

“ Let it go ! ” exclaimed the miller. “ We 
will tie the horse and get it on our way back. 
Nobody will tech it. We will push ahead on 
foot.” 

The two dismounted and began a foot-race 
for the ferry. The woods were not a lengthy 
stretch of trees, and the two men soon reached 
the open fields. Beyond these, hidden by a 
ridge of land, rah the highway. 

“ Leave me ! ” said the panting miller. 
“ You are — younger — and can — run faster.” 

“ Oh,” said Tim, “ time enough ! ” He knew 
the neighborhood, had roughly calculated the 
probable length of True’s stay at the restaurant, 
the progress also they must make to intercept 
him, and concluded that there was sufficient 


2g8 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

time to jog along as he and the miller were 
going. “ Besides, if True gets beyond our 
road,’' reasoned Tim, “ Barnabas will pick 
him up.” 

Better drop me and put ! ” warned the 
panting, wheezy miller again. “ Do — do — do ! 
I’m — jest blown ! ” 

“ Time enough ! ” asserted Tim again. If 
Tim had gone forward as fast as he was able, 
he would have reached the “ long road ” in 
season to intercept True. As it was, on his 
arrival at the turn, there was “ time enough ” 
— to miss True. He looked ahead and True 
was near the water! Barnabas was shooting 
past, hallooing to Tim, “ Come on ! ” 

Tim did now “ come on ” ardently. True 
was opposite the door of the restaurant where 
he had dined. This door was open. 

“ Stop, thief ! ” shouted Barnabas to the 
fugitive, hatless and beardless, but still grip- 
ping the precious bag. 

“ I’ve got ye ! ” the grinning constable said 
to himself. “ You won’t go into that house 
where the folks will nab ye, and you won’t 
want to take a wettin’ in the water. Got ye 
now, sartin’ ! Boat’s beyond your reach, and 
you daresn’t go in that door ! ” Barnabas 
quickly reined in his horse and mmped to the 


TOO LATE THIS TIME. 299 

ground. In the mean time though, True had 
boldly rushed into the restaurant ! 

“Ifheaint gone in there!” cried the con- 
stable. “ Ketcht now in a trap sure as ye are 
born ! In after him ! Hold on though ! 
Somebody must stay out here, one before the 
house and one back of it. Tim ! I say, 
Tim ! ” 

Tim had now arrived, red and puffing. 

“ Tim, you may stay out here ! ” directed 
Commander Locke. The miller came up 
breathing heavily. 

“ Square, you take the back side of the 
house and peek round the corners too. Now 
watch ! If he cuts out of a window or door, 
grab him! Don’t let him git away! H un- 
now ! Come inside with me. Mister Prentiss ! 
Hun-now ! In with ye! ” 

“What do ye want?” here inquired a 
voice coming round a corner of the build- 
ing. 

It was the keeper of the establishment, who 
came from some point in the rear of the house. 
“What’s goin’ on? Injuns, fire, tornader ? 
Nobody to hum there ! My wife’s away and 
left me to do the cookin’ and tother things.” 

Commander Locke explained the situation 
to him, and he became an ally at once and 


300 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL- 

consented to act as one more watchman out- 
side. 

The search was prosecuted with vigor. Bar- 
nabas’ force hunted everywhere, down cellar, 
in potato bins and behind the pork barrel, then 
in the kitchen and the other rooms on the 
first floor, taking the bedrooms next, under all 
the beds and in the closets, and finally up in 
the garret. It was all in vain. 

True could not be found. 

“ The most mystrious thing ! ” said Barnabas 
in profound disgust. ‘‘ He got out somehow. 
Yes, got away ! ” 

Tim declared, “ I’m a-goin’ to set up and 
watch for him. He is in this house, I know.” 

Tim kept his word. The others left at twi- 
light having no faith in the success of a pro- 
longed hunt. Tim remained to sit alone in a 
rocking chair in the room where the restaurant 
keeper served his guests. For awhile, he kept 
bravely awake. About twelve, he began to nod. 
“Time enough for a little doze,” drowsily mut- 
tered Tim, “ just one minute, one ! I’ll get 
nearer the door ! ” A quarter after twelve, he 
was smothered in slumber. It was soon after 
midnight that from behind an old chimney 
in the garret, out from among cobwebs and old 
herbs and accumulations of dirt, lighted by 


TOO LATE THIS TIME. 


301 


a match he had scratched, stole a sorry-feel- 
ing and sorry-looking pilgrim, cramped, sore, 
and nigh choked with dust. Softly, he 
crept down-stairs, his shoes in his hand, 
halting at the foot of the lowest flight, and 
directing a hasty glance toward the door 
of the lighted restaurant before venturing 
to pass it. There in utter unconsciousness, 
sat the nodding Tim, his slouching felt 
hat pulled down over his eyes. In this assist- 
ant constable’s lap, was slothfully folded a 
pair of brown hands. True directed only one 
hasty glance at the sleeper, and leering at him 
sneeringly and triumphantly, went with a 
stealthy tread out into the night. He was 
seen — the next day? Not at all, and never in 
that part of the country. Somebody in Bark- 
ton thought they found in a paper one day 
a description of a horse-thief shot in another 
state, and said, ‘'That must have been True 
Winthrop ! ” It did turn out that the thief 
was True Winthrop. “Got away' from us 
only to be snapped up for a wuss fate,” was 
Barnabas’ comment. 

The next day after the unsuccessful hunt, 
when Tim, Barnabas, Mr. Prentiss and the 
miller met, they discussed their unsuccessful 
attempt. 


302 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“ Came awful near gittin’ that ere chap ! 
remarked the miller. “If you had only left 
me, Tim, as I suggested yesterday, and pushed 
ahead as I advised, you might have nabbed 
him. You know you thought you had time 
enough.” 

“Yes,” replied Tim abstractedly, stepping 
aside to meditate awhile. He was thinking of 
something else. “ Oh dear ! ” he murmured 
softly. 

Mr. Prentiss was thinking of the same sub- 
ject, for when the miller whispered to him, “ I 
remember I gave this young man a piece of 
advice when he was too late for my tide-mill, 
and I’m afeared he has lost the recollection of 
it,” then Mr. Prentiss made this answer : 

“ Well, I am very sure he has lost a pile 
of money he wanted of me to start him in 
business.” 

Yes, still too late for the tide-mill, and Tim 
brought back to Barkton no “ grist ” for that 
proposed store. 


CHAPTER XXIII. 


BEARING FRUIT. 

I ''HREE princesses expected to-night,” 
X said Mrs. Shattuck one Friday about 
two years after the close of the last chapter, 
“ and, Tim, you want to start early to get 
them home.” 

“ All right ! I’m to call at Long Brook, 
Wind Corner, and the factory,” replied Tim. 

About half after three, Tim and his wagon 
appeared at the Long Brook school-house, out 
of whose door trooped the children, glad to be 
liberated from their tasks. Their teacher 
quickly followed them. 

“ I thought I would dismiss a little early, for 
it is something of a ride to Wind Corner,” said 
May Shattuck to Tim as they rode away. 

“ Well, May, this is your first week at teach- 
ing, and how do you like it ? ” 

“ Oh, ever so much 1 Hard sometimes, but 
it is one of the hard things that pay well for 
the trouble they make you,” said May. 

303 


304 TOO LATE FOR THE TIDE-MILL. 

“Glad you like it. You said you meant to 
teach and you stuck to it and got yourself 
ready, and now you have — what shall I call 
it?” 

“Fruit-time after the sowing?” said May 
with a laugh. “ We might call it that.” 

Princess No. One. 

“ Whoa, there, Nancy ! ” shouted Tim at 
the door of the school-house located at Wind 
Corner. The door was open and a little girl 
with staring black eyes was trudging out into 
the rough path leading to the road. 

“ Teacher in there? ” Tim said to the girl. 

“Yeth, thir.” 

“ How do you like her? ” 

“Loth! Thee ain’t big, but then thee ith 
real thmart.” 

“ No doubt about that. You tell her, please, 
some folks want to see her, will you ? ” 

“ Yeth, thir.” 

“ Here I am ! ” cried Dot Fairfax, quickly 
following the little messenger when she ap- 
peared again. “ All ready to go with you ! ” 

“ All ready to have you. Dot ! ” cried the 
other school-mistress, making room for Dot on 
the back wagon-seat. 

“Well, Dot,” said Tim as they rode off, “ I 
will ask you as I did May ; how do you like 


BEARING FRUIT. 305 

school-keeping.^ You have tried it a week and 
ought to know.’’ 

“ I like it. It is not all a sitting in your 
chair and letting the world wait on you, but I 
take a solid satisfaction in it, and don’t regret 
at all the time I gave to preparation for my 
work.” 

Princess No. Two. 

“Now for the canning factory!” shouted 
Tim, and once more the wagon-wheels began 
to turn swiftly round. At the door of the 
factory, Will F'airfax made his appearance. 

“Halloo, there!” he shouted. “Welcome, 
school-marms ! Come, step out, please ! Want 
to introduce you to our new book-keeper.” 

“ What ? ” asked Dot. 

“ Well, little gal, it means that I am going 
away, but you will be pleased to know where. 
Some of mother’s old friends, the Redburns — ■” 

“The Redburns? Oh, they are splendid 
people.” 

“In the iron business, you know. Well, 
they wanted a man near them in their count- 
ing-room, and thinking I might like the posi- 
tion — good salary you know — have offered it 
to me. I .said ‘ yes,’ and now, here is the new 
book-keeper that takes my place here.” 

As he s oke, he led them into the counting- 


20 


306 too late for the tide-mill. 

room, where at a desk, her face flushed with 
the joy of success, sat Arvie Estey, the new 
book-keeper. 

I thought,” said the superintendent ap- 
proaching from his corner, “if Will was going 
to leave us — and I can’t blame him for wanting 
to improve his chances in life — if he was going 
to leave, as I said, it seemed to me Arvie, who 
has been attending school and making the best 
use of her time, would be the one to succeed 
Will.” 

Princess No. Three. 

“ Oh,” thought Tim, as the three girls rode 
home with him, “ wish 1 could have had that 
chance in the counting-room ! ” 

It had gone though to the person who, im- 
proving her opportunities, had fitted herself 
for the position. Another instance of fruit- 
bearing. 

In after days, Tim remained — Tim. He 
did not part with his very serious fault of pro- 
crastination. Neglecting to prepare himself 
for more important work, he simply stood at a 
bench in the old canning factory, and drudged 
there. He was no more intelligent, for he did 
not arouse himself to systematic self-culture. 
In spiritual things, alas, he was still undecided 
and careless. “ I am going to change my life. 


BEARING FRUIT. 


307 


I am going to lead a Christian life sometime,” 
he would say, and never did. What a seri- 
ous mistake! So the time slipt by. He was 
careless time-enough Tim, still saying, “ To- 
morrow will do.” 

When his old teacher, Mr. Eastburn, held 
that long anticipated meeting of his former 
pupils, all in that part of the country came to 
it. All ? There was an exception. Tim 
Shattuck intended to be present. He pre- 
pared to go, but to his energetic mother who 
was hastening him forward in the work of 
preparation he said, “ Time enough ! ” He 
arrived at the place of meeting when — the 
meeting was over! Still, too late for the tide- 
mill! 





m. 




im: 




.' 4 f ^ f 


1 




■^r 


hM »1 






-IS’ 


iS'' 


,%A' 


JH 


'iP 






j' I 




•it ) 


IS^uH m. I ' . * < ^ 

lU ^T '• ^‘ 

. -■ 




I ^ fl * 


■a ^ 


i 


•4i 


ii ^ 


h 




4 » 


m 


^1 


H r 


>*'? ;i,£# 


«L « 


■■ 




*.4 V ^ 

'^r ‘ , 


- "'Tj ‘ 

O."- ^ ^ .— 

■ '. -■'f 

r ' . 

■r^t 

'1. 


[m '4 


* w 




■ :,r. t^... .. . 




1 - 


% •• 




^ ''* J 0 B m ^ 

If 

vj 7 , 




/i 




V-- 


■' I 






^ 

• f f 


4 


i y 


at 


f-** 


K 




H:^. 




% 


V- ,' 




v^: 


•'ft 




6 


t ti 


11 


' > t 


*' 


•' jf 




"if 


:i 






-A.s 






liA 


ii> 


):v 


;«»' 


I » 


11'“*, 


i * > 


Ulii. ' 


:j 

' - - Wv 

i " * 


• :J %J . • 

• 4 ? 


•tlf, 


i1 


A. 




V 


■’■‘I 


Ip 








i»K 


ft r *'H SM 




ri(- 




« 4 


[1 




jbij? 

•yt ^ ‘«j 'f 


.i 


^^*•W 


fc_* 


Vffj WJ 


^ ■ ^ 4 .- I 

|>« • ;^ ,4 




r- 




i. 


*-4* 


1 C 






' (•' 




nUifii 


• .J 


[I .Ti’^ 


’i; .» 






» » 


^1 


ki 


i 




r- 1: 




>»r' 


*!1 


t-H 


rt( 


If 


L. I 


1i 


» ’ 


:v 


^ V I 


A 


♦4 




> 


Xu 


4 f/ 


• •% 


\* • 




V 

.,i>. 






« 1-4 


4 


. •jt.'-.'-’-y 


kr-:'.: 


'•»<r 




,v 




»» •' 

•t; 2 ,^ 


riTi 


4 Ail 


L' • > 









